


Spite & Dogma

by TheHiveinJune



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst and Feels, Boys In Love, Endgames are secret and still up in the air, Engagement, Falling In Love, Heavy Petting, Implied Sexual Content, Love Triangles, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 154,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHiveinJune/pseuds/TheHiveinJune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A past of history and misgivings. A shared connection of friendship and insecurities. A betrayal of vows. An uncertain choice between two loves. Wandering spectators and current conquests. Admirers and rivals. Of the docile and the conspirators. Of overprotective siblings and unsure exes. And of course, a wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Certainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first Haikyuu!! fanfiction ever, so I apologize in advance if it seems amateurish. Once I got involved and invested into the series and fandom, I felt compelled to write something that I could really devote to publish. With that said, I’m human, so any typos or grammatical errors are possible. I apologize in advance, as well.
> 
> I have a lot of the story mapped out and have a clear vision of where exactly I want it to go. I’ll try to be disciplined when it comes to updates, along with trying to stay true to the characters themselves.
> 
> This will be a Multi-Chapter story arc along with a Multi-Pairing.
> 
> Rated M, for mature situations and themes.
> 
> And of course, I do not own Haikyuu!! or/and the characters.
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

* * *

 

 

**_Spite and Dogma_ **

 

**Chapter 1: Certainty**

 

_Of past infatuations and future plans_

 

 

* * *

 

 

**_December 18th_ **

**Kuroo**

 

 

 

It was a beautiful ring, with a sleek white gold band and a small inner band of minuscule sapphires and diamonds at the center. Kuroo Tetsurou tilted and turned the shining band with puckered lips and a furrowed brow as Bokuto stood aside looking back and forth from his best bro to the metal in his hands. If anyone had decided to walk into the men's bathroom it might have been mistaken as the worst proposal in history. The former Fukurodani captain was in a cold sweat, waiting for Kuroo to give him his most honest opinion. The ravenhead was being thorough, trying to find any imperfection that might embarrass Bokuto when he decided to pop the question to his longtime boyfriend. Finding none, Kuroo raised his dark eyes to his friend's, a smile breaking across his face as he placed the ring back in its velvet box and into the Bokuto's hand.

 

"It's perfect," Kuroo said warmly, a loud stream of hoots erupting from the bulky man beside him as he took the box back.  

“Right!? It’s so fitting for him, huh?” The pepper-haired man squealed. He was so happy for his friend, grinning from ear to ear as his bro bounced up and down. Bokuto Koutarou was not only a prime member for the Japanese national volleyball team, he was a stone cold romantic. Kuroo’s positive Bokuto’s been dreaming about marrying his younger counterpart since meeting the setter back in middle school. He was happy for him—for them both—but Kuroo’s excitement felt underwhelming.

“Bro, he’s going to love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Man, if you were so worried about it, why didn’t you ask me to go with you to buy it?” Kuroo gestured towards himself. He watched a small blush forming on Bokuto’s ears, contrasting against his black and white hair dramatically.

"Well, honestly, I wasn't even planning on getting a ring.”

A long pause followed, the former middle blocker's deadpanned expression making Bokuto anxious.

“Explain,” Kuroo finally replied.

“Uh,” Bokuto started, “Well, I was just getting some takeout after practice the other day. Then when I got to the restaurant, the..there was a couple celebrating their anniversary," He laughed shakily, "Apparently they had their first date there. And I thought," he paused, smiling at the box in his hand gently, "I really wanted that." He shrugged his shoulders as he tilted his head.

“So, you spontaneously bought a ring?” Kuroo raised a brow.

" _Well yeah_! What else are you supposed to do when the universe gives you a sign? Ignore it?"          

“The universe?”

 

"What else would it be!?  Plus, I found the ring at a jeweler right across the street of the restaurant," he smiled slyly at Kuroo, "So yes, the universe."  

“No, no, I was just wondering, is all. I’m,” he smiled back, genuinely, “I’m so happy for you, Bo.” Kuroo spread his arms wide open, waiting for impact. Bokuto hugged him fiercely, picking him up with his larger build. Kuroo hugged back with the same gusto, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I’m beyond happy for you both. You two deserve this,” Kuroo adds. Bokuto put him down and straightened his tie after patting his side pocket, making sure the velvety box hadn’t disappeared.

“Well you better be, best man!” Bokuto exclaimed. Kuroo raised his brow again, almost questioning if he heard him right. Bokuto’s expressive smile grew as he nodded his head towards him. Kuroo nodded, accepting the offer.  

“Best man?”

“Best man,” the wing spiker repeated.

“Hmm, I think I like the sound of that.”

“That's what I’m talking about, bro!” Bokuto started bouncing again, shaking the dark haired man’s shoulders with each jump. “Fuck man, I’m about to be engaged! I’m about to—” he paused, ceasing all bouncing, “Akaashi...is going to be my _fiance_.”

Oh god, the glow. Kuroo almost had to look away from Bokuto who just radiated with joy. Instead, he clasped his hand onto the burly man’s shoulder and silently wondered if this kind of bliss was contagious.

"Well, the best man says that maybe you should probably get back to your future fiance's side before they send a search party for the two of us, yeah?"   

“Good idea,” Bokuto nodded, shaking his limbs of any jitters and started walking to the door, then turned quickly back to Kuroo. “You really think he’ll like it?” he asked, his nervousness sneaking back to the surface. “You think he’d want to marry me?”

Exasperated, Kuroo pushed him out of the bathroom.

They walked back to the main dining room of the restaurant then headed to a smaller private room to the side. Even from the main room, the pair could clearly make out their loud friends who had gathered for Akaashi's and Kageyama's joint birthday celebration.

Around the room, men and women laughed and cursed at high volume as others talked within small groups, everyone being acquainted with everyone else throughout the years of mutual friendships and volleyball. They watched on as their friends moved from one conversation to another; friends from different careers and once different teams. The two men looked around the splendor of drunks trying to find one in particular.

Then, Kuroo pointed to one end of the room where a small group was talking amongst themselves. Consisting of old and current setters, amongst them was the amiable dark haired beauty Akaashi Keiji talking to a shit faced Kageyama Tobio and a red Yahaba Shigeru. At that moment, Akaashi turned in their direction, a soft blush giving away how tipsy he probably was as well. Bokuto smiled at his direction as Kuroo watched the exchange.

They both looked so in love, so certain.

Remembering Bokuto's earlier question, Kuroo shook his head with a small smile.

"Honestly, I think that it was only a matter of time," Kuroo gave him a gentle push in Akaashi's direction, "Now go. Mustn't keep the birthday boy waiting."

Bokuto slowly started making his way towards his boyfriend, dodging and maneuvering past others stumbling through his path. Kuroo walked in the opposite direction, going toward the other end of the large communal table to where his small best friend currently sat next to his overly zealous orange haired boyfriend.

Kozume Kenma was currently on his phone, reading an article about some new game that was about to launch when Kuroo took his seat to his left. To his right, Hinata Shouyou was having a debate with Lev about predictions for this year’s upcoming games with the national team. Kenma didn’t even look up at his childhood friend, only raising a quizzical brow as he nodded his head as if asking what he wanted. Kuroo smiled at him, pushing the phone away from his face.

Kenma gave him a small sigh as he faced him with glassy eyes and red cheeks. Kuroo snorted, musing how a drunk Kenma was a temperamental Kenma, one you didn't want to piss off. His small friend kept to himself, but Kuroo had been a witness to an audacious Kenma before—one who isn't afraid to come out of his shell when intoxicated. Kuroo shivered slightly as he remembered the league tournament incident. Kuroo gave a defeated look and shook his head, muttering a soft ‘nevermind,’ allowing Kenma to go back to his phone.

He looked around the room again, wondering when he had made so many friends; people that impacted him or someone close to him in one way or another in a short span of a few years. He looked around and couldn’t help but notice that the majority of his friends came as couples. Kuroo tried not to dwell on it, but couldn’t help it. It probably had to do with the fact that two of his closest friends were about to be engaged while he was still going from one casual fling to another at an impressive rate.

He looked around to the cute couples that littered the small groups of conversations; Sawamura and Sugawara were talking with Kai and his girlfriend; Yaku held Lev's while ignoring most of his boyfriend's blabbering with Hinata; Inuoka had his cute date who he was smitten with; Matsukawa and Hanamaki were laughing at Oikawa getting hit by his best friend Iwaizumi (who were surprisingly not together against much speculation); and Ushijima calmly talking with Nishinoya, who was holding his liquor better than his partner Asahi.

There were a few more that the ravenhead didn't know too well, but Kuroo also took account of some fellow singles amongst the room. Tanaka and Yamamoto drinking together as they wallowed in their bachelor lives; Shimizu who seemed to amused as she listened to Shirofuku talk about her recent foodie experience; Konoha who came stag annoyingly glanced at his disgusting friend's PDA as he gulped down his sake.

And near the other end of the table sat a blushing Yachi sitting beside her long time boyfriend Yamaguchi as they talked pleasantly to the calm and collected—and very single—Tsukishima Kei.

Tsukishima Kei was by all accounts looking like he was having a decent time. Being someone that Kuroo recalled avoiding crowds and excessive group outings, he seemed to be enjoying himself amongst the splendor as he talked to his friends. Kuroo sipped his water as he watched Tsukishima cover his mouth when he chuckled at some joke his cute blonde friend had said.

He felt like it had been too long since he’s heard him laugh.

Recognizing the slight haziness in his eyes and the easy smile he had temporarily decided to sport, Kuroo was confident the tall blond was well drunk.

Kuroo remembered the many times he'd seen the same look throughout the years since they've known each other. Sometimes in public at parties like this one, and other times in private, when they would end up at Kuroo's place and pull out old trivia and argue until morning. Back then they had become close with attending the same college and being on the same volleyball team, back when they’d stay late for individual practice and meet up to study—back when he called him Tsukki, teased him with witty banter countered by snarky comments, followed by soft touches and—

Kuroo was quick to glance away as Tsukishima turned his direction to their side of the room, hearing Hinata who was yelling loud enough for the entire room to hear him clearly. Kenma then yanked his boyfriend closer and told him to simmer down as Hinata looked sheepishly embarrassed while he giggled. Kuroo shook his head, looking up to see everyone going back to their own chats, except a certain blond looking right at him; his glasses sitting low on his nose as he gave Kuroo a pointed smirk and a raised brow on his astute features (no doubt questioning Kuroo for the company he kept).

The former Nekoma captain smirked back (somehow understanding he meant the loud redhead). They stayed still for a moment in their exchange until Tsukishima broke contact to turn to Yachi as she exclaimed something that made her eyes go wide and Yamaguchi put his arm around her while he smiled brilliantly.  

And Kuroo watched on, taking in the tall blond as he readjusted his glasses with his nimble fingers, the tips of his digits grazing the golden curls that had grown passed the point when they were in dire need of a haircut. He watched as he tilted his head closer to Yachi so she could whisper in his ear, exposing his long smooth neck to Kuroo’s gaze. Tsukishima twisted back, giving a brief glance at his collarbone where his collar had stretched on his jumper. And then, he gave her another easy smile, his teeth bright as his whole face lit up.

How long had it been since he’s seen him smile like that?

Kenma then nudged Kuroo on his shoulder, causing him to look away from his old kohai and to his friend's disturbed face.

"Do you really have nothing better to do the to ogle?" Kenma asked as Kuroo's face dropped. "You never struck me as someone who would gawk, let alone get caught in said gawking," he put bluntly.

Kuroo reminded himself to choose his words carefully, seeing as his friend is still inebriated to the point of no return. Before he can say anything back, Kenma gave him a pointed look. Kenma was Kuroo's oldest friend, growing up in the same neighborhood since childhood and being on the same volleyball team during most of their school years. If there was one person that could read his mind, smart money would be on the quiet blond to his side ( some people would be thrown off from realizing how disturbingly perceptive he was). Even after high school, Kenma still sported the dyed blond do, keeping it semi-trimmed yet still manageable (unlike Kuroo's wild bed head that he still dons). Appearance aside, Kenma was always right when it came to Kuroo.

"I thought we agreed that matter was put to bed?”  

He sighed, unsure of what more he could do since he couldn't drink as much, being designated driver for a few of his friends. Kuroo looked submissive to Kenma, picking up his glass of water, then gestured to himself.

“C’mon Ken, it’s me. Does that even sound like me?” Kenma looked at him more another moment, before looking back to his phone, muttering ‘whatever’ under his breath.  

Not wanting to raise more alarms to his best friend, he figured he’d keep himself busy and decided to look at his phone wondering if he's gotten a new email or two. While rummaging through his phone, he thought about looking at some old albums he still had saved in his photos; most consisting of him and a certain dinosaur aficionado he shouldn't be tempted to catch a glimpse of at the other end of the table. Kuroo felt a bit dismal, never thinking that he’d be one to keep old sentimental pictures.

It was a hard thing to not dwell in the past, especially when it came to Tsukishima. However, it was indeed in the past, and it was all Kuroo's fault that it didn't transcend into the present. They had history a few years back, but it wasn't anything serious. They were acquaintances who fooled around, no strings attached—mainly due to Kuroo's insistence that he didn't want a relationship whatsoever in the beginning. That was, again, in the past.

He and Tsukishima were still friendly—even if they weren't as close or hardly spent time alone—there was no malice, no hard feelings. Tsukishima still gave him snarky remarks and Kuroo returned with witty banter. It was still nice, still organic between them. Except now Kuroo would sometimes sneak into old emails they shared, and look at his old albums of a sleeping Tsukki and stolen kisses between them. Kuroo shamefully was always looking backward, not really knowing why.

He supposed that’s just how it always goes. It wasn’t like he was unhappy...he just figured he could be happier. More content. As far as anyone knew, Kuroo was quite a  playboy; going from one conquest to another, never going beyond a casual relationship. Everyone he hooked up with knew exactly what they were getting into; Tsukishima knew as well, sticking to said agreement. Kuroo thought it was for the best, so no one would think it was anything more than sex, to keep from anyone growing too attached.

He couldn’t remember when he began yearning for something more significant.

Well, actually he could. He usually chose to pretend that nothing changed. He continued his charade as a casanova, continued to date casually, and continued to be perceived as a charming flirt. He carried on with his life, denying any feelings he had felt for Tsukishima Kei.

He didn't understand how he ended up being the one who kept looking at another full of bitter regret and keeping photos of an old flame. Kuroo figured it was because he seemed to be the only one between them who was disappointed that they ended; upset over being the one who had broken his own rules and fallen for the blond.

And time moved on and they grew apart, sitting at other ends of a table four years later. Kuroo moved on too, more than certain that all he felt was now was nostalgia. He was positive that he held no past feelings, that he couldn’t still be infatuated with someone so difficult and salty—so smart and so suitable. He couldn't even humor the idea of love.    

**  
  
**

**Bokuto** **  
  
**

 

 

Bokuto loved seeing Akaashi smile. There was no greater sight than Akaashi being genuinely happy. Especially when the usually calm brunet beauty was raving on about his amazing boyfriend (Bokuto melted eternally) surprising him with the birthday party (what made it better was the fact that he was in a birthday hat and a glittery sash running across his torso). Akaashi wasn’t too far gone that he’d actually be too touchy or too inappropriate, but Bokuto’s heart soared when Akaashi took his hand, slowly intertwining their fingers as the soft glow on his skin surged.

Akaashi tells Bokuto that he needs to greet everyone properly since some might be leaving soon, and he leaves with Kageyama who's holding onto his sash as they made their way through the room. He stopped by the Fukurodani gang first, Kageyama making a terrible display of himself as he tried to start some small talk and thank them for coming. He saw Akaashi's hands grip Komi's shoulders and decided that his hands were much too bare, gripping the small box inside his pocket.

Bokuto hardly ever thought about marriage really, uncaring about being territorial or possessive of his boyfriend as if Akaashi were some piece of property. It had only crossed his mind a few times before; the last time was during Sawamura and Sugawara’s wedding.

They had been slow dancing and Akaashi was feeling the aftermath of the open bar, and Akaashi told him he couldn't wait for their first dance of their own.

Bokuto was flabbergasted, never before hearing Akaashi talking about such things. Bokuto realized that the future wasn't something that only Bokuto had to eventually think about. His future was also Akaashi's future—their future—and he needed to step up.

He didn't want to rush anything after, figuring that he'll eventually get around to finding a ring, and then it just wasn't a priority. Akaashi never brought it up either, so he let it go. Marriage was also not that easy for two gay men, let alone a wedding. But now, he wanted the experience, and figured that they'd deal with the legality of it all in strides; whether they had a legit marriage license or wrote their own in crayons, he didn't care.

He wanted the tuxedos, overly expensive flowers, intoxicated great-uncles, his face getting slapped by wedding cake, and his favorite people there celebrating Akaashi's and his wedding. The more he kept thinking about it, the more surreal it felt, and the more anxious he felt about proposing. However, he figured that it was about damn time.   

He looked around again, searching for where Akaashi might have wandered to. However, he was also starting to make a list of potential groomsmen from his friends who were present at the party.

He thought how he would have to split the Fukurodani group between him and Akaashi; how he would have to choose amongst his current teammates; and whether or not he’d get arrested with his candidates at his bachelor party (probably). The easiest decision was definitely the best man, knowing there was no better choice than his best friend and bro for life, Kuroo. Kuroo would handle everything with ease, and he knew just how to keep Bokuto in line. The real question would be who he would set his bro up with at his wedding.

He tried not to overstep or meddle with Kuroo’s love life, but he worried. Akaashi has often mentioned how his nagging might be the reason Kuroo doesn’t open much about dating to Bokuto. He knew Kuroo could be stubborn, but he was also aware of how guarded he was—or became.

Bokuto glanced at his friend who was preoccupied with his phone on the other end of the table, scrolling in a slow pace.

The wing spiker loved the feline man like a brother, he was family to him. But he didn’t understand why Kuroo would be so against serious relationships, always jumping from one bed to another.

There was a time once, Bokuto recalled, that Kuroo wanted more. He remembered being at a bar together, getting wasted and having fun with just each other. Kuroo had told him that he finally understood the appeal of being exclusive with someone. Bokuto had begged Kuroo to tell him what magic spell was cast on him to say such blasphemy, and more importantly by _whom._ By the end of the night, Bokuto saw his friend finally take his guard down.

Kuroo never told him who his mystery person was, which was fine. He figured it wasn't too important to know yet, as long as his friend was happy. Kuroo was over the fucking moon.

And then he wasn’t, and Kuroo left to America broken hearted and came back with thicker walls and less caution. Bokuto was all for having a good time, but he didn’t understand the excessiveness. He didn’t want Kuroo to be lonely, but he also wanted him to be happy. Maybe if Kuroo was Bokuto’s best man he might see first hand how monogamy was better to the alternative. That was his plan anyway.

“Should we bring the cake out now?”

Bokuto turned to up his left to see Tsukishima standing next to him, waiting for his answer with a bemused expression.

“Huh?” Bokuto articulated. Tsukishima grinned, probably assuming that Bokuto was either drunk or invalid.

“The cake,” he repeated. Bokuto finally registered what he said, frantically nodding and laughing at not hearing him the first time.

“Oh, yeah, the cake! Thanks, Tsukki!”

“Please don’t call me that,” he said. Bokuto just brushed off the response like he had been doing since they had first met. He watched Tsukishima nod, still wearing his expression, and walk out towards the entrance.  

Bokuto was glad he asked Tsukki and Kenma to set up the party; especially after his birthday surprise for Akaashi last year. He knew they would be the two most likely not to mess it all up. Plus they knew the birthday boys well, Kenma being Hinata's boyfriend who happened to be Kageyama's best friend and Tsukki who recently began to hang out with Akaashi more often now that they worked near each other for the past year. Both were also strong picks for groomsmen, probably for Akaashi.

That was only if Akaashi actually wanted to marry him, of course.

He hoped he wasn’t being foolish in thinking that their future plans weren’t one-sided. He wouldn’t want to risk losing Akaashi over a ring.

**  
  
**

**Akaashi**

**  
  
  
**

 

"The sash and hat are a bit excessive, though, huh?" Sugawara asked Akaashi while Kageyama was talking to Sawamura. Akaashi tried not to let it show that he agreed, but his current state didn't let it go by unnoticed to his ash-haired friend who only smiled.

“Yes, but it’s much better than the surprise camping trip last year,” Akaashi answered,  face unsuccessfully hiding his dismay of the thought, “I thought I was going to freeze to death.”

Sugawara giggled, covering his mouth slightly. "I'm sure," he said gently. And then something caught Akaashi's eye, and he saw the small wedding band around Sugawara's ring finger.

The pale-haired beauty caught his eyes, causing Akaashi to blush. Before he could apologize for staring, Sugawara puts a hand on his shoulder. Akaashi wasn't sure if it was his state of intoxication, but he started to get nervous that Sugawara could read minds.

“You know...I was actually starting to get nervous after a few years that someone,” Sugawara—not so subtly—nodded towards Sawamura, “would never ask me to marry him. I thought he didn’t want to, actually,” he sighed, looking embarrassed as Akaashi gave him his full attention. “I had brought it up one time, and we never talked about it again; like he didn’t want to talk about it. It started getting to me.”

“What did you do?” Akaashi asked, unexpectedly. He immediately became embarrassed, figuring he should have held back with the wine. Sugawara could see that Akaashi was hanging on to every word he was saying at this point. Sugawara almost faltered but figured Akaashi should hear the story.

“Well, we kinda got into a fight.”

“A fight?” Akaashi asked, wondering how a proposal could begin with a quarrel.

“Yeah, I got offered a job back in Sendai. I told him that I loved him, but I didn’t know if I should go back. I told him that I needed to know if he still loved me too, that he wanted a future with me or I couldn’t stay in Tokyo with him.” Sugawara  smiled at him, his kind eyes looking down to his ring.”

“That seems,” the ravenhead paused, trying to form the right words, “direct.”

“Well, yes,” Sugawara agreed, understanding what Akaashi really meant, “but I had felt like I had no other choice at the time.”

“Then what happened?”

“And then he left the room. I thought he was going to leave me right then and there...but he came back into the room with a ring in his hand,” He laughed, “Apparently he had planned his proposal for a whole month. I felt bad for ruining it, honestly.”

Akaashi smiled.

“I’m not saying you should give him an ultimatum,” Sugawara clarified, worried he might have given Akaashi the wrong impression, “It’s just that sometimes you can’t wait for him to do something first. You got to let them know what you want and take things into your own hands.”

Akaashi wasn’t sure about that. He remembered saying something once over Sugawara’s wedding and then he and Bokuto never talked about it. And that was years ago.

Sometimes he wondered if Bokuto wanted a future with him too. Every once in awhile, Akaashi thought about whether they’ll ever move towards the next step of their relationship or stay stagnant. Sure, they basically acted like a married couple, and Akaashi couldn’t picture his life without Bokuto. However, Akaashi still felt uncertainty when it came to whether Bokuto felt the same sometimes.

Which sounded ridiculous, given all that Bokuto had given up to be with him. But still—

"Oh, look, cake!" Sawamura exclaimed, getting their attention. They turned and saw Tsukishima walk into the room with a large cake in his hands. Bokuto ran up beside him, motioning people to make room on the table.

"We should probably head over," Akaashi stated. The group made their way to the cake, where everyone was starting to crowd around with their plates and camera phones. The lights were getting dimmer as Kuroo started lighting the candles.

The cake was absolutely absurd. It was the image of a setting sun designed like a volleyball on a horizon designed like a volleyball net. There was also blue piping along the orange tinted sky part that read, ‘ _Happy Birthdays to our SETTERS!_ ’ (which confused Akaashi, seeing as his boyfriend knew that had hadn’t played volleyball since college) and two large candles sticking up from both sides of the cake. Everyone was taking a picture, and Akaashi could hear Oikawa tell Iwaizumi to get him something better for his birthday. Akaashi looked over to Tsukishima, who just pointed over to Bokuto, saying it was his idea.

It was… not his taste, but really sweet. It was just so Bokuto.

He looked at his boyfriend, who was taking pictures of the cake along with the rest of the guest. Kuroo then started singing ‘happy birthday' to them, everyone else joining in.  

Akaashi blew out his candle with Kageyama and was greeted with applause and boisterous congrats. It was it a great birthday. One of his most favorites by far.

After the cake, people began to leave, giving him and the genius setter final best wishes. In the lobby, where everyone had started to flock to before exiting the restaurant, Akaashi ran into Kenma who was waiting for Hinata to leave as well. He thanked him for helping with the party, which Kenma said he was happy to help—even though he said that Tsukishima ended up doing all of the work—that he was glad he enjoyed himself. Akaashi then mentioned how Kenma looked like he needed sleep.

"Shouyou's talking to Kageyama still, and it's not like I can drive right now, so I have to wait for Kuro, too." Kenma slurred. Akaashi sympathized, feeling like he was finally sobering up himself. "At least, this was better than camping. There was zero reception in those woods," the bottle-blond mentioned, making both boys shiver at the memory.

"He tries to be spontaneous. Sometimes it works out, other time…" Akaashi emphasized. "But it's his way of showing his affection, I suppose."

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Kenma agreed. Akaashi chuckled, realizing that he and Kenma had a lot in common, particularly in taste in men. If there was anyone who knew about the hardships and privilege of being with someone who was high strung, it was Kenma.

“How are you and Hinata, by the way?” Akaashi asked. Kenma looked at him with glazed eyes, taken aback by the question as a blush on the top of his ears began to form. He quickly composed himself from his surprise and gave a small smile, but the ravenhead noticed something in his face seemed forced.

“We’re good, he’s just been away a lot for work.” Akaashi nodded, remembering a time when he felt the same.

“It’s hard to find the time for each other, right?” Akaashi clarified. He watched the blush spill from the smaller man’s ears to his cheeks.

“Sometimes.”

"Yeah, that's how I felt about before Bokuto and I moved in together too. His games and tour dates would sometimes clash with my schedule and classes. Maybe you should think about getting a place together." Akaashi suggested.

He then immediately regretted it, seeing Kenma's wide eyes on him, all signs of his blush disappeared as he paled.

"I'm sorry," Akaashi started, looking down to shoes and placed his hands behind his back nervously, "I didn't mean to impose." Kenma still seemed tense, but he eased up a bit, probably realizing that Akaashi had meant no offense.

"It's fine...I've thought about it, to be honest." Akaashi raised a brow, surprised at Kenma’s frankness. "I mean, I was bound to amuse the possibility eventually….I guess I'm unsure if Hinata and I have that kind of future."

Akaashi wondered if an open bar was a wise choice, seeing as the reason for how honest Kenma was being could only be liquor. Then he thought back to his earlier conversation with Sugawara and smiled at the shorter man.

“You know,” Akaashi began, “Maybe it’d be for the best to take things into your own hands. Sometimes you can’t wait for them to take the first step. Be bold, maybe.”

There was a short pause, then Kenma nodded, acknowledging his words. He seemed to hear the sincerity of Akaashi’s words. The ravenhead gave a reassuring smile, catching Hinata walking towards them from his peripheral. The small ginger motioned to Kenma that he’s ready to leave. Both Kenma and Hinata gave Akaashi their goodbyes and final birthday congrats as they exited. Akaashi watched them walk to the end of the parking lot, where Kuroo was waiting for them.  

Yes, he and Kenma had plenty in common, but they had one big difference.

Even though there were times he felt unsure about things, he never wondered about how he felt about Bokuto. It was time to stop having doubts and start being daring.

He waited for Tsukishima to finish his conversation with Kageyama before he offered to walk him to his car, much to Tsukishima’s surprise. He accepted nonetheless.

"Thank you, by the way. I figured you were responsible for the party being practical and not over the top." Akaashi smiled, and Tsukishima returned one as well.

He and the tall blond had become close again over the past year or so. They had been good friends since they had met, and became even closer in college., Then after a while, Tsukishima had distanced himself from Bokuto, Kenma and himself, still hanging out with them occasionally, but much more reserved.

Akaashi knew why but figured it wasn't his place to pry. Over the years, he had ended up missing him, realizing that he had needed someone else with an easy temperament to balance out Bokuto and his partner in crime, Kuroo.

Then, Tsukishima had shown up to a local ramen stand that Akaashi frequented, apparently starting a new job not too far from former setter’s own workplace. Their daily lunches began shortly after, along with occasional drinks, and next thing they knew, they had become good friends once more. One of the closest Akaashi had.

"Of course. Besides, God knows what would have happened if Bokuto was in charge," Tsukishima teased. They had finally reached his car when Tsukishima pulled out an envelope, handing it to Akaashi.

“Happy birthday.”  

The gesture was polite, but Akaashi had grown close enough to the blond to know that he cared. In his own way. He thanked him, accepting the card. With a nod, Tsukishima opened his door and was about to say his farewells, but Akaashi stepped closer, making the younger man stop. Then, Akaashi cleared his throat and asked him if he was willing to do him a favor.

"What sort of favor?" Tsukishima raised a brow.

"Well, I was wondering...if you had plans for this upcoming weekend?"

 

“Nothing important. What did you have in mind?”

 

If Akaashi wanted something to change, he’d have to take things into his own hands. He needed to be fearless. Courageous.

“I need help looking for an engagement ring.”

**  
Certain.**

 

* * *

 

**Next Chapter: Caution**

Kenma, Oikawa, Kuroo, Tsukishima

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand, there it is! I hope you enjoyed it. If anyone has any notes or comments, feel free to review. That’d be rad.~~
> 
> Also, if someone out there would be willing to be, in part, an editor, that’d be greatly appreciated. I really want someone who would not only be able to refine some of my writing, but also be a sort of fact checker when it comes to the character development. Next chapter will be up soon. (If anyone even reads this of course...)
> 
> Thanksh.


	2. Caution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello! This chapter is still partly introductory but overall, not. The plot is a-going already! So if there is anyone out there reading this, feedback would be cherished beyond belief!

 

 

* * *

 

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_Chapter 1: Certainty_

**Chapter 2: Caution**

 

_Of the next phase and reluctance_

_Of bitterness and anticipation_

 

* * *

   


**_December 27th_ **

 

**Kenma**

  


“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. I mean, I haven’t lived with anyone else since Tora, which was traumatic enough to never consider doing it again.”

 

Kozume Kenma couldn’t stress enough how unsure he was about asking Shouyou to move in with him. Part of Kenma knew that his constant questioning was partly due to his decade-long insecurities, his constant uneasiness with other people. He never had to worry about Shouyou, though. Still, he was unsure if things would actually work out or if he was lighting a match, sending any future he and the spunky redhead had to flames.

 

He held up his phone with his shoulder as he picked up a large bag of rice and placed it in his shopping cart. He huffed, holding his phone in his hand once again as he began walking to the next aisle of the grocery store. He could hear Kuro sigh on the other side of the line.

 

“Don’t be difficult. You shouldn’t be so pessimistic, either. What would be so awful about moving in with the pipsqueak?” Kuro asked, making Kenma grimace.

 

“I’m not being difficult…”

 

“You are.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Are too.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Are too.”

 

“Am no-”

 

“Okay, no. Stop stalling. You have no concrete reason why it would be a bad thing.” Kenma groaned loud enough for Kuro to hear clearly.  

 

“Where should I start? I might end up doing his laundry,” he started.

 

“But you find laundry soothing!”

 

“I might end up doing all the chores.”

 

“Well… then make him do the grocery shopping. You hate the heavy lifting, anyway.”

 

Okay, _true_. But still. Kuro just didn’t get it.

 

His best friend was obviously unaware of how much work and stress came with a serious relationship. It was one of the few things that Kenma had actually committed into putting effort into, but he was still scared that he wasn’t enough. After all the constant praise to his friends and Shouyou, he couldn’t help but feel inadequate at times. He didn’t want the boy who meant the world to Kenma to eventually grow tired of him.

 

Which was pretty much the whole reason that he was on the fence about living together.

 

"What if he burns down the kitchen?”

 

“It’s called insurance.”

 

“What if the new place ends up being haunted?”

 

“Then we can have spooky sleepovers!”

 

“What if I find out he's really part of some vampire cult and I become his next blood bag?"

 

Kenma only then remembered that he was still in public. He looked up from the floor only to see the checkout girl staring at him like he was disturbed. Mortified, Kenma barely registered Kuro still on the line, asking if Kenma was still there. He scrabbled with his wallet looking for his card as he told Kuro to give him a minute. After getting out of the store, Kenma rushed to put all his groceries into the car.

 

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, I really do hate grocery shopping,” he noted. Kuro chuckled as Kenma struggled to fit everything into the back. Finally, he shut the trunk door and made his way to the driver’s seat of the car, not bothering to turn it on as he just buried himself into his seat.

 

“See? I told you,” his friend bragged, “You should totally move in with the kid.”

 

Maybe he was being dramatic.

 

He loved Shouyou. Like, really loved him. They had been together for the almost six years, both content with where their lives were independently and as a couple. Kenma supported him when he decided to go to university in Tokyo, was supportive when Hinata competed in university volleyball, and supported him when he joined the Tokyo Fire Department as a rescue pilot.

 

Kenma was also there when Shouyou almost decided to drop out of university when all the stress and pressure had gotten the better of him until Kenma helped him reconsider. Or when Kenma sat in the front row during Hinata’s last volleyball game of his student career and celebrated as Shouyou made his last set point against his best friend's team. And the night Hinata came back from his first failed assignment, drained and quiet as Kenma held him until the fell asleep.

 

Hinata has been there for Kenma in stride too.

 

Six wonderful years.

 

But what now?

 

Were they always just going to stay the same? Was Kenma always going to wait for Shouyou to make the first move? How long would that take?

 

“Sometimes you gotta’ take things into your own hands, Ken,” Kuro said, repeating the same words Kenma had heard from Akaashi only a few days ago.

 

If Kenma were honest— _really_ honest—he’d tell Shouyou that he never wanted anyone else for the rest of his life. Tell him that they should move in together. Confess that he could see himself growing old with the redhead.

 

Was he really going to always let his stupid self-doubts get in the way?

 

“Yeah. You’re right.” Kenma whispered, thinking about all the moments he had for six wonderful years. Six years seemed like nothing at all.

 

He wanted more.

 

Moving in was the right choice, the next best step.

 

"Yeah I know I'm right. It’s perfect. He'll cook, and you'll be the designated bug killer. He's the one who'll unclog the toilet, and you'll be the one who'll know how to install the wifi router." His best friend claimed. Kenma smiled, already picturing what it would be like to live with his boyfriend.

 

"Who knows, maybe you guys will get engaged soon too," Kuro said offhandedly, throwing Kenma off.

 

He made a dazed face and after a pregnant pause asked Kuro where the hell that came from. He heard a choking noise on the line, figuring Kuro actually didn’t mean to tell him what he just told him.

 

“Oh, my bad’” he coughed, “It’s just….Can you keep a secret?” Exasperated, Kenma rolled his eyes.

"No Kuro, I'm your basic mean tween gossip queen. Of course, I can." Kenma could only hear silence on the other end, wondering if his call dropped. And then he heard the most horrendous cackle coming from his best friend (it sounded like a dying mongoose getting mauled by a walrus). He rolled his eyes again when he heard him start to wheeze.

 

"I'm— _pfft_ —sorry," Kuro gasped between laughs, "Mean tween— _hahahaa_ —gossip queen?! What the fuck is that? Maaaaan, the shrimp is rubbing off on you. Who knew you were so goofy now?"

 

“I’m about to hang up and drive home. So what do you have to tell me, you hyena?” Kenma said curtly, feeling a headache forming.

 

“Well,” Kuro started, finally calmed down, “Bokuto got Akaashi a ring.”

 

Kenma’s brows rose with surprise, not really sure what to think about the news.

"When did he tell you?"

 

"At the birthday party. The ring was perfect," Kuro sighed and Kenma could almost feel the heavy shoulders his best friend was bearing, "I'm feeling left out a bit, seeing how everyone is making huge life decisions except me. Bo and Akaashi. You and the shrimp. Maybe I should shack up with someone too."

 

Kenma could tell Kuro was joking, but couldn’t help feel sympathy for him. It must be hard being the only bachelor in their group, constantly hearing about some story or news from the couples. They tried to make him feel included, but Kuro has admitted to feeling like a third or fifth wheel at times.

 

Before he could say anything, an awkward chuckle came from the line.

 

"Don't get me wrong, though, I'm happy for them. And being the obvious choice for best man gives me first dibs on any choice meat." Kenma could practically hear his eyebrows wiggling at the statement.

 

“Oh god, knowing Bokuto, he’ll let you treat the wedding like a buffet. I should warn Akaashi before you’re granted any special treatment.” He heard Kuro laugh, lifting both their spirits. “Listen, I should probably get home before the milk starts to go bad in my trunk. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

 

"Yeah, I'll talk to you then. Also, don't forget to let me know if you want a ride to your mom's for New Years. I leave the 30th. Alrighty, bye." They hung up. As Kenma started the car, he put his hands on the wheel and paused. He thought his hands were too small and thin, also a bit too pale.

 

But Shouyou loved his hands, and Kenma imagined a small wedding band around his ring finger. He smiled, determined to get through every milestone with his wild child orange-haired boyfriend.

When he finally got home and unpacked the groceries, he got on his laptop and started searching for a bigger apartment.

  


**Oikawa**

  
  


Oikawa Tooru was in the middle of the national volleyball team’s gymnasium, wondering why he’s been summoned on his day off. Alongside him were two of his fellow teammates, Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi, both also asked to show up by Bokuto—who had yet to arrive. What really threw everyone off was the fact that Sawamura was there too. Figuring this had nothing to do with practice, the other men started to get antsy.

 

Finally, Bokuto came through the door along with Kuroo Tetsurou at his side. Kuroo had a small smirk on his features while Bokuto couldn’t stop grinning like a maniac.  

 

Oikawa was cautious...

 

"Ay! You all made it!!" Bokuto belted loud enough for his voice to carry throughout the large gym.

 

"What's this about exactly?" Daichi asked as he crossed his arms, prepared for the whatever ridiculous antics they were bound to thrust upon them.

 

After a moment of dramatic pause, Bokuto took out a box from his pocket. Well, tried to. Before he could steady it in his hand, the box flew out of his grip and right to Tobio's forehead.

 

Oikawa and Kuroo immediately burst into laughter as Daichi rushed to Tobio's aid, along with a concerned looking Ushijima and a distraught Bokuto. After they were assured that the younger setter was alright, they all gave their attention back to Bokuto, who then showed them a small box slowly.

“Um,” he giggled, slowly opening the box and showed them the ring resting inside, “I’m getting married.” He and Kuroo smiled as the rest of their faces dropped. Bokuto then immediately started bouncing and screamed, “ _I’m getting married bitches!”_

 

Daichi immediately grabbed him and hugged him fiercely, followed instantly by Kuroo. Tobio got close to them and then hovered like a fly until Daichi pulled him in. Oikawa looked at the splendor with a raised eyebrow until Ushijima bumped his shoulder. Oikawa turned to look at his teammate/roommate/nemesis unsure if he was being serious. When Ushijima just smirked at him and nodded his head towards the weird hug, Oikawa sighed as he begrudgingly walked into the embrace, followed by Ushijima. When they all disentangled, Bokuto passed the box to Daichi.

 

"Well, I'm glad you all know. Now I called you guys here for two things. One, I need groomsmen."

 

“I feel bad for them already,” the handsome setter teased, earning a flabbergasted squawk from his owl-like teammate.

 

“I meant you guys!! What do ya’ say?” Bokuto asked and was immediately answered by earnest nods and smiles. Bokuto let them know that a few others that weren't present were as well, including his former teammates. He also told Kageyama to tell Hinata that he was also in the wedding since he couldn't make it.

 

"Alright, and the second thing I wanted to ask you guys is," he looked nervous as he grinned a bit more forcefully, "Do you guys had any ideas of how I should propose?"

 

There was a moment of silence. Oikawa had a tight-lipped smile as he asked Bokuto to repeat himself.

 

“How should I ask Akaashi to marry me?” he reiterated.

 

“You asked us to be your groomsmen before you figured out how to ask him?” Ushijima questioned.

 

“I got the ring. Was I supposed to do more?”

 

Everyone gave audible sighs, minus Tobio. After a moment of shaking heads and more groans about Bokuto's nitwit ways, they started brainstorming.

 

Kuroo had suggested a private picnic of sorts, only to be countered by Daichi, ever the romantic, who suggested a dinner on a sailboat. Ushijima surprisingly suggested that he might want to consider an adventurous approach, like skydiving and hot air ballooning (which really threw Oikawa off, wondering if Ushijima even had an adventurous bone in his body—he was more of a ‘better homes and gardens’ kind of guy). Bokuto was incredibly excited with all the suggestions (especially the skydiving one). All the while, Oikawa stayed moderately quiet, mostly watching the group exchange ideas. He wished he could be more excited like the rest.

 

Honestly, Oikawa wasn't really a fan of marriage. He understood the desire and the indulgence, but it had lost its charm. He figured if someone really wanted to be with someone else entirely, they would be. Period. He didn't understand why people would split up once they decided to be true to someone else for the rest of their lives.

 

He figured breakups were hard enough, and he wasn't a fan of how much paperwork it took to break up in a marriage. The whole practice was flawed. His opinion, however, weighed heavy with bitterness, having been broken up with before.

 

He really had no problem being dumped or ending a relationship if it was going nowhere. He did, however, hate the idea of being dumped by someone who you were certain was the love of your life. That honestly left him quite wounded. Oikawa just figured the heartache wasn't worth the risk. Marriage wasn’t worth the risk.

 

Oikawa might also have mixed feelings since Bokuto and Akaashi happened to be best friends. He felt a bit biased, but he couldn’t help it.

 

He wondered what Iwa-chan thought of marriage.

 

He usually tried to keep his mind from wandering to thoughts of Iwaizumi Hajime to an obsessive degree. However, it was hard for Oikawa to suppress his brain of his fondest subject.

 

Iwa-chan was his oldest and closest friend, knowing each other since their infancy. They had always remained close through childhood to present, always staying by each other side and telling the other everything. Throughout the years, Oikawa had become the renown wonder child of their relationship and Iwa-chan had become more of the parent. Oikawa made childish antics and Iwa-chan would reprimand him.

 

More importantly, it was Iwaizumi who was Oikawa's greatest supporter and always knew how to bring him back from his uncertainties. It had become more apparent once they joined volleyball together. As the years passed, their friendship only became more solid. They had become a strong pair, and when they got into high school, they emerged as a power duo and as all-star players—especially Oikawa.

 

Oikawa had become a prime athlete, a local celebrity that was gaining praise and popularity for his skill and charisma. He was also being scouted by numerous schools and was an elite contender to eventually make the national team. Everyone wanted to see him succeed, especially his best friend. He was well loved—by his fans, the press, and his peers. And he had never been more loved than when he became the captain in his final year at Aoba Johsai. Their team had such promise, reeling to finally defeat their oldest rival Shiratorizawa and make their way to the national stage.

 

Then they were bested by Karasuno, and their time as teammates had finally come to an end. And while they were bound to different universities and had time against them, their end had sparked a new sort of beginning to their friendship. One that Oikawa had longed for since the beginning of their friendship.

 

The night of their last high school volleyball game, Oikawa had turned from a strong leader in front of his team into a catatonic boy laying by his best friend in his room, resisting the urge to cry. He felt like a failure, a constant insecurity that he managed to hide well. And before he could dive into his lowest self, Iwa-chan had confessed that he loved him.

 

And Oikawa had never felt more validity. Iwaizumi always knew how to bring Oikawa out of his uncertainties. They had gone from friends who matured into teammates and bloomed into lovers. They had become everything Oikawa had always desired. He had felt loved, but it was short lived. When it was time for his graduation day, Iwa-chan had told him that he wanted to just be his best friend, and nothing more.

 

And they've been best friends again since. Iwaizumi had continued to be there for him and Oikawa had reverted to being in unrequited love. Oikawa continued to play volleyball in university, got sponsored, and joined the national team. Iwaizumi had also continued playing volleyball in university, sometimes even going against his best friend, then he focused on his career and was well on his way to becoming a splendid doctor.

 

Oikawa always caught himself wishing to go back to the time when he could always be with Iwaizumi. He wished they could go back to staying late at practice after school, to watching _Godzilla_ during their sleepovers to sneaking out in the middle of the night together and finding a field to look at the stars and spot a stray ufo. He figured they would end up doing the same thing all their lives. Together.

 

“Why don’t you write down _‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?_ ’ on the milk he uses for his coffee?” Tobio suggested, snapping Oikawa from his thought to his dense kohai.

 

He sometimes wondered how the so-called genius wasn't classified as mentally handicapped. Oikawa looked at the others present only to notice that they looked like they were having the same train of thought as Oikawa. Bokuto sighed, asking Tobio if that was a serious suggestion. Before Tobio could say anything else dumb, Oikawa coughed gaining everyone's attention. He smiled, thinking of the perfect idea.

 

“Hmmm, what about,” he paused for dramatic effect, “stargazing.”

 

“In Tokyo?” Bokuto questioned.

 

“Or outside of the city,” Ushijima answered for his roommate, “There’s some splendid countryside not too far from the prefecture.”

 

"Oh! That'd be cool! Akaashi would love that," Bokuto lit up, "What do you guys think?" He gestured to the rest of them. Kuroo started talking about places that were more private and secluded, and Tobio and Daichi gave small input about the details. As they continued to rave on, Oikawa grinned, satisfied with his advice.

 

Then, he felt a shiver on the back of his neck and turned to see Ushijima staring at him again. While the rest of the boys were engrossed in the conversation, he and Ushijima slowly smiled at each other—enraptured.

 

Oikawa became slightly lightheaded, feeling uncertain about more things than he’s willing to admit. He should probably be more cautious.

  
  


**_January 5th_ **

 

**Kuroo**

  


"I'm so glad to be home. I don't even remember most of the weekend," Kuroo hollered as he and Kenma walked into a small coffee house, the former stretching widely. They had just come back the night before from spending the New Years with their families in their childhood neighborhood. They saw their relatives and properly celebrated, enjoying their short-lived holiday.

 

“That’s your fault for letting your cousins get the better of you like always,” Kenma droned as they waited in line.

 

“I don’t back down from a challenge, you know that,” Kuroo mused. As they ordered their drinks and chose a table, Kenma burrowed through his bag and pulled out a small, thick booklet filled with colored tabs sticking out the sides and a small highlighter wedged between the middle of the book. Kuroo smirked as he watched the short blond open his book and look over a few tabs, uncapping his highlighter.

 

“What’s the book for?”

 

"It's an apartment guide book," Kenma then closed the book and set it on the spine, showing the countless colored tabs on the edge to his friend.

 

"Red tabs are for apartments that are close to the train. Blue tabs stand for an apartment with washer/dryers. Green tabs are for ones that have good food close by. Pinks are ones with gyms. And orange tabs are the ones with indoor pools since Shouyou loves those."

 

Kenma then continued to explain what the different colored highlighter represented, from reasonable rent, good security, and registered sex offenders. Kuroo was very impressed, wondering if Kenma spent most of the holiday organizing it all.

 

Today the plan was to visit Kenma’s top five choices, and maybe deciding on one. Kuroo got their drinks on the bar, and they were on their way. After the first two, he was already exhausted. They were on their way to the next apartment, and Kuroo hoped that it was the last.

 

“Why are you looking for a place before you tell the shrimp, again?” Kuroo asked, looking over the one-sheet of the next place as he sipped the last of his cold coffee. Kenma was on his phone, looking up the direction to get there since they had somehow gotten lost.

 

“Because, if I commit to a place first, I’m less likely to talk myself out of it. I’ve already told this a number of times to you,” Kenma muttered as he rolled his eyes, “You were the one who was so adamant about this the other day. You convinced me, remember?”

 

He took a sharp right on a corner, dazing Kuroo as he tried to keep up. He laughed softly, getting Kenma’s attention.

  
“Yeah, It just...” Kuroo began to mumble, losing the words as the grazed his tongue.

 

“Just what?” Kenma pressed, looking up from his phone upon noticing his friend's dejected tone. Trying not to make the small blond suspicious, the ravenhead cleared his throat and clarified.

 

“You just sound so sure now, Ken,” Kuroo urged. Kenma stopped walking. The former Nekoma captain turned fully to his best friend, watching as the younger man furrowed his brows in deep thought. After a few more seconds of thinking of what to say, he looked back up to Kuroo, sleek auric eyes staring back at him with intensity.

 

“I am,” he said, “Really, I am. I hope you can understand how much I really love him.” Kuroo is taken aback by his friend’s certainty. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

 

Not sure what to say, Kuroo merely nods, telling Kenma that he knew and that he did understand. He can admit that he felt envious of his best friend's confidence in his relationship, something that's always been lacking with Kuroo. However, a larger part of him is ecstatic for his friend.

 

Kenma has always been hesitant to go after the things he wanted, much to the constant interference from Kuroo. It was refreshing to see his childhood friend grow up.

 

He felt like he was the one who was missing out.

 

In fact, Kuroo believed that he really didn't know what it was that he really wanted. Maybe he was supposed to be an eighty-year-old bachelor hitting on the lovely residents in his retirement home. It was a future that he envisioned with great humor and half seriousness. He's not certain when he started picturing growing old with someone else. Maybe it just wasn't in the stars for him. He caught Kenma staring at him, probably attempting (succeeding) to read his mind.

 

“You’ll get there too,” Kenma said, “definitely.”

 

He looked so absolute Kuroo wanted to believe him. And with that, he turned around and continued to lead the way as Kuroo trailed behind him.

 

When they got to the next place, the short blond was smitten with the apartment, asking the realtor question after question as they walked through each room. Kuroo strayed behind, taking his time as he walked through the flat.

 

Kenma’s words repeated in his head, how he would get to this point too. To holding hands and sharing a future with someone. To moving in and being domestic and realizing that home was in someone’s arms.

 

Being inside the place that his best friend was going to be living with his boyfriend all seemed overwhelming. Like how Akaashi and Bokuto were getting married. Everyone around him seemed like _legit_ adults now. And he felt...kinda left behind.

 

Which was FINE. He was fine, everything was fine.

 

So his friends were getting serious with their lives. Big whoop.

 

And he wished he had someone too sometimes. But he’s not gonna cry about it.

 

He was fine.

 

“I’m fine,” He then pulled out a small box of cigarettes (a rare indulgence of his) from his back pocket, looking around for a large window, “I’m more than fine,” he mumbled as he placed a smoke between his lips, “I’m great.” He walked down the hall and into the kitchen where he saw a large set window to the side. “Super.”

 

As he got closer, he noticed a small banister on the bottom of the window sill with a wide box meant for flowers and herbs. He smirked as he tilted his head at the small detail.

 

Tsukishima loved flowers boxes outside of windows...

 

Which was such a weird thing to remember about a boy that you _did not_ have feelings for anymore.

 

He shook his head as he fished for his lighter, rummaging through his pockets. When he grabbed hold of it, he lifted the window to let in the fresh air.

 

And then he smelled apples. He frowned at the misplaced scent, looking all around the kitchen but not seeing any fruit or anything that could be giving off that smell. He looked back outside and realized that the flower box was full of—

 

_“They’re called summer snapdragon.”_

 

_Kuroo looked towards the end of the tiny dorm where the tall blond stood watering the violet blue stems that nested on the flower box outside of the only window in the whole room._

 

_“They kinda smell like apples.”_

 

_“I suppose they do.”_

 

_Kuroo leaned against the doorframe on the other side of the room, where he watched Tsukishima continue to water the flowers as he explained how he wanted plants that were low maintenance. As he started to go into detail about proper soil pH and keeping certain bugs away, Kuroo hoped the blond didn’t quiz him later because he was not paying attention at all to what he was saying. Just that his lips looked so soft when he talked._

 

_“What?”_

 

_Kuroo looked up, his gaze finding gold._

 

_“Nothing. I just never knew you were into gardening,” the older boy smirked as he crossed his arms, “It’s adorable.”_

 

_Tsukishima clicked his tongue before closing the window and put the watering can down._

 

_“Shut up. It’s relaxing. Besides,” he groaned, flopping ungracefully onto his twin bed to the right of the room, leaving barely enough space for the bedhead, “This dorm is so depressing, I figured it wouldn’t hurt.”_

 

_Kuroo immediately pushed himself off the door frame and nested next to Tsukishima, his arms quickly finding themselves around the taller boy’s waist._

 

_“You know you could always stay at my place instead,” Kuroo insisted pulling himself forwards so that he laid on top of the blond._

 

_“And why would I do that?” Tsukishima teased, his tone playful._

 

_“Hmm, maybe because you would get to spend more time with me,” the dark-haired man grinned, slipping the tips of his fingers under the younger boy’s shirt. “And all your cute dinosaurs don’t have enough shelf space here.”_

 

_“They’re not cute, and I see enough of you at practice,” the blond claimed. He pulled away when Kuroo tried to peck his lips, but groaned when he felt the elder’s mouth start leave butterfly kisses on his neck instead. “Plus, you’re annoying. Can you stop, please?”_

 

_“You know you love it.”_

 

_“Ew, no.”_

 

_“Don’t lie, Tsukki,” he mewed leaving harsher kisses on the fair skin. The boy beneath him shuddered, his hands tugging at the sides of ravenhead’s shirt. And just like that, the golden haired boy relaxed underneath him, cheeks pink with arousal._

 

_“Kuroo.”_

 

“Kuro.”

 

He turned, finding Kenma giving him a deadpanned look under the kitchen archway.

 

“I thought you were going to quit.” The former setter challenged, catching the smoke still between the taller man’s lips. Kuroo quickly plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and stuffed it back into his pocket.

 

“I didn’t light it.”

 

“You were going to.”

 

“You know, most people don’t stick with their New Year’s resolutions because of the pressure, Ken.” The bottle blond rolled his eyes.

 

“Right. So,” the shorter man took a deep breath, “what do you think?”

 

Kuroo thought for a second, then turned back to around, looking outside the window to the violet-blue stems adorning the sill.

 

Everything about the apartment was nice. From the space to the neighborhood. The flower box was just a small detail, nothing really significant. But it brought nice memories to the older man. And he was always biased when it came to nice things.

 

Like the smell of apples, and glasses, and boys who made him feel more than _just fine_.

 

Well, he was convinced. Kuroo turned back to his friend, his craving for a smoke forgotten. He could see Kenma in this place. Could see the shrimp moving in. He could also see himself visiting often, being the one who waters the flowers outside the window.

 

That’d be nice.

 

“The shrimp will love it.”

  
  


**_January 8th_ **

  


**Tsukishima**

 

A soft ring of the bell chimed as Akaashi and Tsukishima walked into the eighth jewelry store of the day, and Tsukishima still couldn't remember why he agreed to go shopping for a ring in the first place. He hated shopping, it was time-consuming and tedious. If Akaashi wasn't such a good friend of his, Tsukishima would honestly be anywhere else.

 

He looked around at the other customers in the shop who were looking at the different displays. Akaashi walked up to a clerk who had brought out a few selections for him to look at since he called ahead.

 

While Akaashi looked over a few choices, the former middle blocker looked back at the other customers, also looking at rings of their own. This wasn't Tsukishima's first time offering his help with ring shopping. The last time was a few years back when Akiteru, his benevolent big brother, had first told him about proposing to the rowdy Saeko Tanaka.

 

It felt like a sickness of sorts, a contagious disease spreading—infecting the general populous. First, it was his brother, followed by Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san, then his teacher and coach eloped, and now Akaashi. Tsukishima also had an inkling that his best friend Yamaguchi would be the next victim of the marriage bug.

 

He felt like he was being pathetic. He sounded like a bitter hag who was always a bridesmaid, and never the bride...

 

Which wasn’t that farfetched from his actual standpoint.

 

Tsukishima wouldn’t call himself bitter, but sometimes being the only single person amongst your friends was vexing. He often felt like the odd man out, even if he never voiced it. He supposed he had no one else to blame other than himself, being the one who’s always kept people at arm's length. Especially romantically. The blond chalked it up to not knowing what he wanted, even if that wasn’t always the case.

 

Akaashi called him over, wanting a second opinion. Tsukishima walked over to the counter and looked down to see half a dozen rings, each one a different style and design.

 

“My favorites so far are the tungsten with the black diamonds in the middle or this white gold one with the diamonds at the edge. Which do you like best?” Akaashi held both rings in either hand, motioning to each as he described them to Tsukishima. He looked them over, figuring he might as well participate to speed up the process. After a minute of looking between them, Tsukishima pointed to Akaashi’s left hand.

 

“Definitely the tungsten, it’s more fitting for Bokuto-san,” Tsukishima stated, making Akaashi break out a smile as he agreed. The taller man backed away as Akaashi went over the details with the clerk, looking over some other rings to the side. Some were a bit gaudy or too much, irking him slightly. On the other hand, Tsukishima could see why Akaashi had picked this place to look for a ring, seeing some nice pieces. At least Akaashi had better taste than his brother.

 

A few rings caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, as he looked into the display case. They seemed like something that Yamaguchi would like if his freckled friend ever did gather up the courage to buy a ring for his cute blonde girlfriend. A simple black one caught his eye on the side of the case, and to the right of it was a small pendant of a black cat. He smirked. It almost reminded him of Ku-

 

 **No**.

 

No, no, no. Nope. He was not going there. Uh uh. He backed away and shook his head before he heard his name called.  He forced his eyes away in time to see Akaashi walking towards him. He tried to redisplay a blase᷇ look on his face when Akaashi finally reached him. He gave him a questionable look before returning to his neutral state asking if he was hungry. He was ravished.

 

They ended up making their way to a local dumpling shop and ordered as they poured their tea in wait.

 

“Well, I finally have the ring. Now all I have to do is figure out how to give it to him,” Akaashi scoffed slightly, “We’ll see how that works out.”

 

“So you’re still not clear on how you want to propose?”

 

"Hmmm, not really," he sighed, "I figured the best course of action would be to just carry it around and be spontaneous." Akaashi shrugged his shoulders, taking small sips of his tea. Tsukishima took a small sip as well, enjoying the heat in his throat as he watched his friend.

 

“What if you lose the ring?”

 

“I got it insured, you know...knowing Bokuto.”

 

Tsukishima understood the gist of what he meant. Bokuto Koutarou was rambunctious, to say the least. Tsukishima looked back to Akaashi, who was staring at his tea while he bit his bottom lip—a nervous tick, he presumed. As he started to chew on his lip more aggressively, Tsukishima coughed, grabbing his attention.

 

“I’m sure whatever you decide to do, he’ll like it. You could literally stick it in his food and choke him, and I’m more than certain Bokuto-san’s answer would still be ‘yes’.”

 

Akaashi chuckled with his hand in front of his mouth, agreeing with his statement. He thought of an idea as he saw Akaashi begin to overthink on it more.

 

“You know,” he started matter-a-factly, “My brother proposed to his wife with a fishing trip.” He shook his head at the memory. “That was his plan, a romantic private fishing trip with just the two of them on this really nice lake up north. The plan was that he wanted to it to seem like he caught a fish and then when he reeled it in there would be the ring. Except,”  he looked across the table to see Akaashi listening closely, a small quirk in his brow, “When he actually reeled it in, though, he ended up actually catching a fish... which in turn ended up swallowing the ring.”

 

Tsukishima Kei had never heard a more embarrassing laugh than the one that came out of Akaashi Keiji. He flinched a bit when he hiccuped and snorted for a good minute. At first, the younger boy was in shock that he couldn't move. After a few seconds, though, Akaashi's contagious laugh had consumed him too, leaving them both clutching their stomachs and wiping tears from their eyes. When they had finally calmed down, Akaashi asked Tsukishima to finish his story. They ate their dumplings as he told him how his brother had to gut the fish and proposed with a slimy engagement ring and a laughing Tanaka Saeko.

 

When they finished, the blond offered to walk Akaashi home, seeing as it was closer to the train station anyways. They talked about some other ideas for proposing along with the chaos that’s bound to be the wedding party. Akaashi clarified that he’d most likely end up organizing the whole thing. Tsukishima groaned, warning him that it'll become a huge headache. Akaashi looked at him from the side, making the younger man turn to him with a face that asked what could he possibly be thinking about.

 

"You're right is all," he looked forward with the smallest smile, "It's going to be annoying dealing with it all by myself. I'm going to need people to help me with Bokuto’s bunch. Which is why...maybe you could help me out," he turned facing him fully, "you know, as my groomsmen. What do you say?"

 

He wasn’t all that surprised. They were good friends after all….

 

And yet he was hesitant.

 

“Um, that’s really nice, but that seems like a lot of work and I’m,” he shuffled his feet a bit and started drumming his fingers against his pant leg, “I’m just not sure. I’m really flattered.” Embarrassed, he started to press his fingers against each other, hesitantly looking back up.  

 

He sees Akaashi looking at him pleasantly, hands in his pocket as he shifts his weight to his right.

 

“That’s okay. I figured it was a long shot,” he leaned in towards the blond, “But I would have really enjoyed your input.” He finished with a slight shrug.

 

Tsukishima would have enjoyed that too. He understood where the dark haired man was coming from. He would have hated picking flowers, and ordering invitations, and centerpieces, along with dealing with the in-laws, but he wouldn't have minded if he did it with his friend. So why couldn't he accept? Why couldn't he be one of Akaashi's groomsmen, attend a gross bachelor party, and party it up during the ceremony months away from now? It all sounded kind of fun, and he could use a good time for once. Plus, their other friends would also be there. And Bokuto, of course, along with his handsome groomsmen. He would probably even see Kuroo.

 

And then he remembered the reason he’d been so hesitant.

 

"Would your reasons include Kuroo?" Akaashi asked as Tsukishima nearly tripped over his feet. Assuming Akaashi wasn't a mind reader, he shook his head slowly. Akaashi, catching onto his likely train of thought figured he'd clarify.

 

“I’m not trying to pry, but that’s the only thing I could assume that would bother you.”

 

“Wait. Why would you think that’s the reason?” He asked. Akaashi faltered for a second, looking at Tsukishima oddly. He tensed up as former setter continued to look at him.  

 

"Well, you...you can't stand him, right?" He asked.

 

Tsukishima stopped walking as he wore a neutral expression, completely baffled.

He wondered if everyone thought he couldn’t stand Kuroo. He honestly didn’t think that he was that offstandish with the guy to give such an impression. Sure, he avoided him sometimes and he flaked on plans once in awhile if he thought that he was attending, but over the years Tsukishima had maintained the illusion of sarcastic acquaintances when he interacted with the older man.

 

And maybe he did go out of his way to not sit next to him during big parties, but he didn’t hate him.

 

He might have distanced himself from Kuroo’s group of friends (who had become his own) after his third year of college, but he had to focus on his studies and career path.

 

He might also have gone against their risque agreement and developed feelings for the attractive bedhead, but he now had years of suppressing his annoying feelings. Four long years—and he was so close to finally getting over him.

 

Four years of avoidance, evasion, and eluding him. Tsukishima had become a pro with dealing with Kuroo Tetsurou.

 

By pretending that nothing ever happened between them when he's forced to be around the older man; forced to ignore his turning stomach when he saw him walk into a room and force down any chance of resurfacing feelings when he sometimes caught side glances that the elder man sent his way. The blond still couldn't risk weakening his resolve, so he forced himself to forget any history they shared for his own good.

 

He had started dating when they ended their arrangement.

 

He started to turn down invitations from Bokuto and learned to keep to himself.

 

He didn’t take it too personally when he and Kenma had distanced themselves.

 

He stopped attending Akaashi’s study group.

 

For his own good, he reasoned.

 

The easiest thing he did was avoid Hinata, blessed to finally not be forced to hang out with the midget. But he might also not be able to be in Akaashi and Bokuto’s wedding.

 

“I'm sorry. I really thought that you didn’t like him,” Akaashi apologized.

 

“No, that’s okay. That’s not my reason at all... I don’t,” he looked down at his hands, unsure of what he could say, “I don’t think ill of him at all.”  

 

He wanted to at least make that clear. Akaashi started to catch what he meant, gaining a confused expression.

 

“I figured you did. I mean,” he hesitated, “We were good friends before. I figured that your whole thing with him ended badly, and that’s why you stopped being around the rest of us.”

 

Tsukishima looked at him, bashfully. He wasn’t aware that they ever knew about their arrangement. He didn’t have a chance to be alarmed from the revelation when Akaashi turned to him seriously and forwardly asked, “Then, why did we stop being friends?”

 

Out of all things, he never expected to have this conversation. He thought that he'd be drunk out of his mind and in a dingy bar while confessing to a leather clad charmer. Not to Akaashi of all people. Even if he was one of his closest friends.

 

He spent four years avoiding this conversation, but he felt a twist in his gut. Maybe of all people, Akaashi had some right to know why Tsukishima deserted their friendship.

 

“Did I do something wrong?”

 

“What? _NO_. It wasn’t you,” Tsukishima said. He didn’t want to continue, but Akaashi kept persisting.

 

“Did Bokuto do something? Or did Kenma say something to you?” He took a long pause, “It was Hinata, wasn’t it?” Tsukishima didn’t know how to get away from his predicament. He also wasn’t sure when Akaashi had become so brazen to question him so fiercely.

 

He didn’t want Akaashi to know why, but he felt cornered. He shook his head at every possibility Akaashi came up with, from Lev hitting on him to his childhood friend Yamaguchi getting jealous. How was he suppose to tell him that he fell for Kuroo _fucking_ Tetsurou of all people? He didn’t think he could form the words.

 

But four years was a long time to keep something bottled in.

 

“Did you hear about that gross rumor about Bokuto and the octopus, then? Was that it? Because that’s not true. Or..”

 

“No. That’s not, I mean—yes, I heard about that, but no,” he interrupted, pressing his fingers together more tightly, “It’s just, um, he—”

 

“So it was Bokuto then?”

 

“No, it was just that he—”

 

Tsukishima thought he'd never get it out before all the courage in his body left him. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything at all. What good would it do him? He’d lived in denial for so long, but would saying it out loud really be the death of him? It’s not like he loved him still.

 

“Who's ‘he’?”

 

_He didn't love him at all._

 

“It’s okay if it was Bokuto, you know.”

 

_Not even a little._

 

“I still think Hinata annoying you had a bit to do with it. Me and Bokuto actually started a bet with Yaku and Lev about this and—”

 

_Not like it mattered._

 

“Kuroo-san left to America.”

 

Akaashi had frozen mid-sentence. When Tsukishima made no indication of correcting himself, Akaashi raised a brow. When he finally fully registered what he said, he straightened himself.

 

“Yes. He left. I don't understand how that—”

 

“He told me he was leaving.”

 

He wasn’t sure why he had said anything at all, it wouldn’t change anything.

 

“And he wouldn’t have stayed if I had asked. And I stopped being your friend because you were his friend. You all were....and I needed to disconnect from him because I had crossed a line. I—”

 

He could just stop. Nothing would change from confessing. The past was still in the past, and they never had a future to begin with.

 

“I wanted to ask him to stay.”

 

He knew nothing would happen from confiding in Akaashi.

 

“And to stay with me, because…”

 

He knew his feelings wouldn’t be returned.

 

“Because I ended up lo—”

 

“Okay,” Akaashi interrupted as Tsukishima tried to fight a fierce blush. He was confused, but then he felt Akaashi grip his shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze.  

 

“Thank you. You don’t have to say anymore.” Tsukishima was relieved, but a small part of him was distraught, unsure if he’ll ever be able to brave saying anything again. Akaashi caught his eyes, a serious look on his face. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

Tsukishima himself wasn't sure if he had made a mistake, but he felt lighter somehow. He then quickly made Akaashi promise not to tell anyone, especially Bokuto (being a renowned blabbermouth). When they got to his apartment, he told Akaashi that he'd think about being a groomsman, leaving Akaashi with a bit of optimism and a small smile.

 

As he walked to the train station he was in a daze, unsure if he really just had the worst conversation of his life, or if he just imagined it all. He wasn't sure if he regretted what he told Akaashi, but it didn't change how he felt now. He wasn't going to act on anything, so it really didn't matter. He was still going to keep to himself, deny any feelings, and continue to treat Kuroo like the annoying acquaintance he was.

 

He would keep himself guarded and cautious. He would remain cold and remote. And he would keep himself at arm’s length from anything remotely close to fondness for the older man. Tsukishima didn’t need someone to build milestones with, he needed to go back in time and convince himself to not lust after bed-hair and vexing smiles.

 

* * *

 

**Next Chapter: Concessions**

Oikawa, Kuroo, Sugawara, Bokuto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you go! Please leave some love in the form of reviews and favs/follows.
> 
> Chapter 3 coming soon and this is now on Fanfic...if anyone's interested.
> 
> Thankyou!


	3. Concessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Chapter 3 is done, and let me tell you, it was daunting. But with perseverance and my constant nagging to my involuntary editor Perls, I finished early. And though it’s been reviewed and nitpicked, a few typos and grammatical errors could have slipped through, so bare with me. This chapter finally kick-starts the main plotline. Rest assured, it ends on quite a high note, I promise.

* * *

 

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_Chapter 1: Certainty_

_Chapter 2: Caution_

**Chapter 3: Concessions**

_Of current positions and risks of change_

_To fears of rejection_

 

* * *

 

 

**_January 10_ **

 

**Oikawa**

  
  


“Are you doing your stretches properly?”

 

“ _ Yeees~” _

 

“I mean it, Trashykawa. Do them regularly. I bet Kageyama is doing them without having to be reminded.” 

 

“That’s too mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa huffed on his side of the phone, “What an awful thing to say to me, using Tobio-chan against me like that…”

 

“Whatever, just do them. I swear to god, if I hear you start complaining about how your knee is feeling sore or tight I will clobber you myself an-” 

 

“You wouldn’t!”

 

“Oh, I would.  _ Gladly _ .”

 

"You're always such a brute, Iwa-chan," Oikawa smiled, knowingly aggravating his best friend. He had just finished his extra practice with Tobio not too long ago, including his stretches. Being a physician in training, Iwaizumi usually gave him a hard time when it came to being on top of his health to avoid injury. 

 

It’s been that way since he could remember.

 

If it were anyone else, he would be fairly annoyed at the constant nagging. But he enjoyed his best friend worrying about him so diligently. It left him with goose bumps to know that Iwa-chan was always thinking about him.

 

“Listen dumbass. If you get hurt, you won’t be able to compete. And if you can’t compete, you’ll end up complaining a million times more to me than you already do. I’m trying to save myself from the headache, so just do what I say, okay?” 

 

“Yes mom,” He giggled, catching the sound of the former spiker taking deep breaths on the other side of the line. “I should get going, talk to you later Iwa-chan. Bye!” He hung up before Iwaizumi could say anything else, not giving him the chance to yell some more. 

 

He collected his bags and shoes and made his way to the exit, turning to Tobio who was just starting to put his stuff away. 

 

“Bye-bye Tobio-chan. Same time tomorrow, okay?” He waved his hand flippantly as Tobio just waved back, bidding farewell too. 

 

When he got on his train, he pulled out his phone to let Iwaizumi know that he was heading home. Oikawa felt a blush creep up on his neck, thinking that they truly did act like a couple sometimes. Most people usually don’t talk as much as they do unless they were in a romantic relationship.

 

He then remembered to text Ushijima that he would pick up some dinner since he was heading towards the general direction of their favorite ramen place. 

 

It was technically his roommate's turn to make dinner but they had both ran late with practice and figured take out was a better option for the night. He got the message from the ace saying that he already ordered ahead for them. 

 

As he waited for their order to be ready, he received a text from Iwaizumi letting him know that he was starting his graveyard shift at the hospital. Oikawa grinned, wondering if his best friend knew that any message (or call, or glance, or touch) to Oikawa would send the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. Suddenly, he felt bittersweet again, thinking back on how Bokuto was going to propose soon. 

 

His thoughts about Iwa-chan had become confusing as of late. The same happened when Sawamura and Sugawara got married, throwing Oikawa into a tiffy. It was also when he last confessed to Iwaizumi that he still loved him. 

 

During the wedding, he became odd and nervous around Iwa-chan, only to throw himself on him during their reception and professed his feelings that never went away. 

 

Iwaizumi, however, was always more level headed. 

 

He gently let down Oikawa's advances and took his drunk-ass back to his place to sleep his stupor off. He shouldn't have been surprised about what happened, but at the time he was desperate to rekindle what they used to be and desperation made him weak. And Oikawa always tended to be the weak one. 

 

Since their breakup in high school, Oikawa had confessed to Iwaizumi a number of times, claiming they belonged together. Other times, he demanded another shot to prove himself worthy. Even when they lived hours away from each other and went to different schools, Oikawa persisted. 

 

And over the years, he had grown accustomed to rejection. His best friend would tell him that they couldn't be together. His reasons varied with different excuses, but it remained clear that he didn't love him like Oikawa did. 

 

As he walked the rest of the way home with a bag full of food, he thought about how much he's grown since the last time he had confessed to his best friend two and a half years ago. Oikawa wasn't as foolish, or as eager for Iwaizumi's affection. Instead, he basked in all the reciprocated affection he got elsewhere—his love for his fans, his love for his teammates, his love for his sport—but sometimes it wasn't enough. 

 

None would ever measure up to his love for his best friend. 

 

And nothing would ever come close to making him as happy as when he used to cuddle with Iwa-chan in the middle of the night and steal kisses in between classes and hold hands when they walked home late. So Oikawa learned how to be satisfied with being content. 

 

Content with the past eight years of just being friends, on focusing on themselves before each other, and seeing each other casually date other people. 

 

Eight years was enough time for Oikawa to realize he had to move on, no matter how hard of a pill it was to swallow. Besides, contentment allowed him to eventually appreciate all the things he did have. 

 

Oikawa climbed the stairs to his flat, rummaging through his pocket for his keys. When he got outside of the door, however, it swung wide open to Ushijima in sweats and rubber gloves. Oikawa raised his brows as he tried to fight a smirk at the sight. He entered the threshold and placed the food on the counter, looking around to see the apartment cleaned and dusted. He turned to his roommate.

 

"Thanks for cleaning, even though it was my turn," he said, taking out the plastic bowls from the bag and pouring the contents into their own dishes. Ushijima took off his yellow rubber gloves and placed them in the sink to wash his hands. 

 

“It’s fine, really. You picked up the food,” he turned the water off and dried his hands before grabbing a few utensils, “Besides, you leave streaks on the floor when you mop.” 

 

Oikawa turned sharply to his direction with a pout as Ushijima just walked towards their small dining table. He followed with two steaming bowls. 

 

“I do not.”

 

“Do too.” 

 

As they ate their meal, Oikawa brought up Bokuto's wedding, wondering who they’d be paired up with or if they would be able to bring a ‘plus one'. 

 

“I’m assuming that Tendou would be your date, right?” Oikawa taunted with a wide smirk as Ushijima finished his noodles. 

 

“If he’s not busy,” he said, taking his last spoonful. He looked up as Oikawa unattractively slurped more noodles, his mouth forming the smallest of frowns as he thought more on the subject. “Are you going to ask Iwaizumi?” Oikawa continued to slurp as he shrugged his shoulders, finishing with a fake smile.

 

“Who else would I take?”

 

"Yes, who else, indeed," Ushijima muttered as he wiped his face harshly with his napkin. He then pushed his bowl away from him and took out his phone from his pocket, deciding that he didn't want to continue the conversation. Oikawa rolled his eyes as he swallowed and wiped his mouth before speaking. 

 

“I go everywhere with Iwa-chan,” he started, “but as friends. Everyone knows that. If anything, it’d be weird to go anywhere with anyone else.”  

 

"So it'd be weird to go with your boyfriend?" Ushijima challenged. 

 

In hindsight, this particular conversation might not have been a good idea. Any conversation that brings up Iwaizumi was always a bad idea. 

 

"If no one knows about said boyfriend, yes." He didn't want to have this conversation again. This fight was exhausting, always leaving both of them upset.

 

Being in a secret romance was easy when they started two years ago, agreeing that it would be the best for their public image if no one knew about them. They had started as roommates and teammates that hooked up… then they both grew attached (much to Oikawa's horror). They became an official item a few months into their physical relationship. They simultaneously stopped seeing other people and stopped threatening to find new roommates. After a year together, Ushijima had confessed that he loved him, and instead of saying it back, Oikawa had told him that he still loved Iwaizumi. 

 

In that moment, he told him everything, figuring he deserved to know. It was only after that he found out that Ushijima had always assumed they had a history. And even though it always struck a nerve with the ace, he still longed for Oikawa. He had accepted that he might not have him wholly, as long as he can have him. 

 

And yet, whenever Iwaizumi was brought up, it left him raw and made Oikawa feel like the bad guy. He knew two years of being a secret must take a toll, but he wasn't ready to be public. He wasn't ready for everyone to know—especially Iwaizumi.

 

“Right. Excuse me for mentioning such an absurd proposal,” Ushijima snarled.

 

"You asked," he sassed. He looked over Ushijima who was still looking down on his phone, trying to pretend he never said anything, knowing it annoyed Oikawa. He hated being dismissed, especially when they bickered. "Right then. Well, if you're done, I'll wash the dishes since I don't really feel like fighting right now." He quickly picked up the bowls before he made his way to the sink.

 

Oikawa could feel his eyebrows crease together as he harshly scrubbed the bottom of a pot in the sink. He didn't realize that he had been cleaning the same thing for ten minutes, lost in thought about how stupid he felt for bringing up the subject of dates to the wedding. With all the growing up he'd done, he still somehow found new and innovated ways to stick his foot in his mouth. He was so engrossed in his thoughts and scrubbing to noticed that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. 

 

He immediately tensed up when he felt rough, strong hands gently placed on his waist, taking deep breaths before he stopped scrubbing the pot and dropped it into the small pool of water. He turned off the faucet as he tried to ignore the heat rising from his chest. Ushijima pulled Oikawa’s back towards him and the setter felt the taller man’s nose grazing the baby hair on the back of his neck until he brought it towards the edge of his collar. 

 

“I’m sorry,” the larger man breathed, flushed up against his skin, “I didn’t mean to lose my temper.” 

 

Oikawa did his best not to move, staying bullheaded. He remained stiff, determined not to give into his resolve or Ushijima’s insistent nuzzling. Aware that he was being stubborn, the taller ace pushed them forward so that Oikawa was against the counter as one of his hands made their way under the setter’s shirt and the other to the waistband of his pants.”I’m really sorry,” he said as he licked his flesh below his ear, “Let me make it up to you.” 

 

Oikawa almost gave in but he resisted the urge to shudder when his teammate’s teeth bit down on the crook his neck and collarbone. 

 

"I'm not going to reward you for practically throwing a tantrum," Oikawa hissed, biting his bottom lip as his boyfriend pressed his pelvis against his ass. 

 

Suddenly, he was turned around, coming face to face with Ushijima. Oikawa glared at him, only to be rewarded with an apologetic pout. His felt his willpower weaken and sighed. His hands made their way up his muscular boyfriend's arms, still irked. "I don't like being ignored."

 

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ushijima pardoned. Giving up entirely at staying mad, Oikawa rested his chin on the man’s chest while he pushed them off the counter. He tugged on to the ace’s sweat pants smiling at the taller man’s lack of resistance. 

 

"I know you are." It never took long for their fights to be resolved, no matter how often it happened. They had plenty of practice with compromising in their relationship. That's the way it had to be, seeing as how it was quite the adjustment to be in love with someone who loved another. "So why don't you make it up to me already then," Oikawa teased, eyes half lidded as they stood only a few inches apart. It only took a moment for Ushijima to finally brush his lips against Oikawa's, holding onto his slim waist as he gently guided them out of the kitchen. 

 

When they tumbled into the ace's room (practically  _ both _ of their room) Oikawa felt hazy as Ushijima purred soft words in the dark. He felt hypnotized as he pulled his boyfriend down into the mattress with him, feverish when he pulled Oikawa's hands above his head, intertwining their finger. He felt wrong for enjoying every moment with his arch-nemesis, and it felt like ages since he stopped imagining Iwaizumi's instead when he was with Wakatoshi. It really was an adjustment to be with someone who wasn't Iwa-chan, but at least with Ushijima in his arms, he was content. 

  
  


**_January 12_ **

 

**Kuroo**

  
  


Kuroo and Bokuto wandered around the arts and hobby store looking for decor for Bokuto’s plan to propose to Akaashi later that weekend, completely in over their heads. They strolled down were in an aisle filled with different kinds of plastic flowers and feathers, the latter taking up the former Fukurodani captain’s attention. As Bokuto figured out which colors he wanted, Kuroo was looking at the flowers. 

 

"Bo! I found some forget-me-nots, but I don't think they have gardenas. _ Gardeneos _ ? Gardenae—man, whatever they are, they don’t have them," Kuroo informed as he brought a few samples of his findings to Bokuto. The wing spiker looked them over before shaking his head. 

 

"These don't look right here either!" He whined, then he shrugged his shoulders, "I guess I am gonna have to get _ real _ flowers. Shit, that's gonna be so expensive." He put the flowers to the side as he took out his phone and tried to find a reasonably priced florist. "Maybe I should have found a cheaper ring." He noted. 

 

Kuroo agreed, especially after his best bro told him how much he put down on the piece of jewelry. 

 

Yikes.

 

He knew that Akaashi and Bokuto didn't worry about finances much, but he had to admit it was excessive. He looked around, seeing the plethora of flowers that would have been satisfactory.

 

"Maybe you should have. I mean, it's just a ring," he claimed as he rolled his neck, "And honestly, you don't have to get everything. It might not be worth spending so much," he finished nonchalantly. 

 

Turning back to his best bro, Bokuto gave him a pointed look. At first, he thought he might have said something to piss Bokuto off, but then he saw that classic Bokuto grin spread across his face.

 

“Trust me. Akaashi is definitely worth it.”

 

Kuroo recalled seeing the same sort of fierceness in Kenma only a few days ago. He was glad that they felt that way. However, a part of him was still also curious of their certainty for their partners. How could you be sure on one person? Especially when that one person can always leave.

 

“Bo?” He started, as Bokuto gave him his attention while dropping feathers into a shopping bag by the handfuls. “How do you know?”

 

“Know what?”

 

"That you and Akaashi belong together." Bokuto stopped his task, giving Kuroo a sly smirk and raised his brow at such an odd question. "Like, you know, _ ‘he's the one’ _ and all that." He chuckled in response to Kuroo's use of his finger quotation marks.

 

"Damn, bro. Don't tell me you've fallen for one of your booty calls. Ooh! Is it the one that works at that sake bar? Cuz me and Akaashi want free drinks," He joked with a wide smile as he picked up some paint on the next aisle and made his way to the front to pay, Kuroo following behind. 

 

"No, I haven't. I'm just curious." Bokuto looked at him squarely, saying that he'll tell them in the car. 

 

After paying at the cashier, they walked back to the Kuroo's car as his best friend told them of a place nearby where he could find the appropriate flowers. Once he got comfortable in the passenger seat, Bokuto started taking deep, long breaths. This went on for a few minutes, Kuroo knowing that his friend was just dramatically pumping himself up. 

 

Finally, the shorter man looked towards Kuroo who had been waiting patiently in the driver seat. After a few seconds, Kuroo face dropped as Bokuto started to tear up. He was about to panic until Bokuto smiled, looking out the front window in a daze.

 

"I have never thought of anyone else more than I ever have of Akaashi," he started, "I have never wanted more, felt more for, or ever cared more for anyone else. He has always been..." He finally looked at Kuroo, smile as brilliant as ever.

 

"My most important person. My  _ favorite _ person. He has always been the one to help me be my best. I am my best self when I'm with him."

 

Kuroo couldn’t think of any other time he had seen Bokuto with so much conviction. Not even with volleyball. 

 

So this is  _ love _ .

 

When Bokuto started laughing at his expression, he wondered how it must have felt to have someone like that. He was envious. He tried to recall the last time he ever felt anything remotely close to that. The last time he ever thought he was his best self was with—

 

"Jeez, Kuroo. What's up with you? Making me feel all sappy and shit," he muttered with a smile as he tried to recompose himself into a playful persona. Wiping away a few stray tears with the heel of his palm, he looked Kuroo once over and couldn't help but sympathize with the brunette. "I'm sure you know how it's like. I mean, you and Ken are practically in sync," he wiggles his brows, "Who knows? You guys might actually end up together if he and my bird-son split." The thought made Kuroo raise a brow back, smirk returning to his handsome face. They were on the road when Kuroo corrected his hyperactive friend.

 

"You obviously haven't seen Ken lately. He's more in love with shorty then ever," Kuroo paused, figuring it was alright to spill his best friend's secret since he kind of did the same thing with Bokuto's engagement. "He's going to ask Hinata to move with him. I went with him when he found the new place. It's really nice."

 

"Woah! Seriously?! That's huge!" Bokuto hopped in his seat,"Our Kenma, growing up," he mimed a lone tear falling down his cheek, "Akaashi will be so proud. Hopefully, Hinata will go along with it, if not, you can definitely shack up with the kid."

 

"Nah, I'm bound on the ‘80-year-old cat lady’ track," He kept his eyes on the road but managed to look serene as he looked forward, "He's happy, so I'm happy."

 

Bokuto glanced at him from the side of his eye and pouted. He turned to look out the passenger window, wondering what to say to his friend. 

 

“You know, I think I have a rough idea of who Akaashi would ask to be his groomsmen…”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, Kenma would definitely get asked.”

 

“Well knowing Ken, he’d say yes.”

 

“Yeah, and probably Yaku. I know for sure he’d ask Wataru.”

 

"Oh yeah! You guys would have to pick between your old teammates. I forgot. Well, that shouldn't be too bad. Yaku's a good choice, too."

 

"Yeah. So I guess you get the pick of the litter."

 

“ _ Sweeeeeet _ . Though they're all sorta my friends too, so I wouldn't go for them, or anything. Maybe I can find a distant cousin of Akaashi! That way you and I would be kinda related!" He bounced up and down, grinning at the idea. Usually, Bokuto would be bouncing right next to him at the possibility but he watched his friend closely. 

 

“Yeah...He might also ask Tsukki too, I think.” 

 

This caught Kuroo’s attention, shooting Bokuto a quick glance before he goes back to watching traffic. However, Bokuto took notice of the slight stiffness in his shoulders and the grip on the wheel. 

 

“Oh, yeah. They’re good friends now, right?” 

 

"Yeah. They're pretty close."

 

"Makes sense... I mean, they've always got along well. They still hang?"

 

"They hang out a lot, actually."

 

"Cool."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah. He'd be a good choice."

 

"I think so..."

 

"Cool."

 

"That's only if, you know, you're okay with it. Of course." 

 

Kuroo looked sharply at the passenger seat where Bokuto was still looking at him. Understanding the silent question, Bokuto clarified, "Akaashi would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, bro." 

 

Still confused, Kuroo raised his brow as he parked in a front of a nursery. He took the keys out of the ignition, fully turning his head towards Bokuto. 

 

"That's fine...Why would I be uncomfortable, exactly?" Kuroo urged. Bokuto scoffed, also turning so he was fully facing him. He was slightly alarmed when he felt Bokuto's hand slam down on his shoulder. 

 

"Because you're my best friend and I love you," he tilted his head to the side, "And I know you better than you think." 

 

Kuroo sat in shock, unsure what just happened or if he imagined what he heard. He wondered if Bokuto knew or was just bluffing. He figured that it was the former, seeing as his friend gripped him fiercely before exiting the car. 

 

But how?

 

Kuroo knew that Bokuto never tried to meddle, knowing how Kuroo could get defensive. However, he wondered what would have been if he just confided all his doubts to his friends. He exited the car, still at a lost of how the conversation turned. He needed to clear the air, to make sure he wasn't misunderstood.

 

“Bokuto, hold up. I just—I wasn’t in a good place when—” 

 

"Dude," the pepper haired man interrupts, "It's ok. You don't have to say anything. Really." 

 

Kuroo was baffled, never thinking that of all people to know his secret, it would end up being Bokuto. Which only meant that Akaashi probably knew too. 

 

"Since when?"

 

"Since you left," he said, giving Kuroo a genuine expression. There was a silent understanding, telling Kuroo that nothing else needed to be said. 

 

Part of him felt mortified at the revelation of someone knowing about the time when he made the biggest mistakes, but another part deep down felt relieved that they also saw him when he was most his best self. With someone who brought it out of him. He stood there, thankful for his friend not making him say it out loud. It would have been too much right now—it was always too much.

 

With that, Bokuto turned and headed to the entrance of the nursery. 

 

“Besides, he might not accept. I mean,” he paused, probably for dramatic effect, “You know how Tsukki could be.” 

 

Yes. Of all people, he did know how he could be. He wondered if Tsukishima would be hesitant in accepting because of Kuroo. 

 

He doubted it, seeing as how little regard he had for Kuroo now. He wouldn't hesitate because of ‘a friend of a friend' or really, ‘this guy I once knew.’ 

 

Plus, the blond was too prideful to let Kuroo get in the way of anything he did; always has been. As Bokuto found a clerk inside, Kuroo wandered around the store, his mind caught up in old times. 

  
  


_ “If I had to pick…I think I would want to be proposed to in the Chicxulub crater in Mexico.” _

 

_ “Where the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs landed?”  _

 

_ "That's the one." Kuroo chuckled into his kohai’s hair as they laid on his old, lumpy couch at his flat, limbs intertwined during the cold evening as they ignored the movie playing lowly in the background. Kuroo was on his side as Tsukki laid the back of his head on Kuroo's forearm as the older man’s other hand trailed patterns across the thin fabric of the blond’s shirt above his navel. _

 

_ “I wouldn’t expect that from you. It’s kinda ironic, though.” _

 

_ “Exactly. Except, I’d still want it to be private. Like, no other person there or close by.” _

 

_ “That’d be hard, seeing as it’s a touristy spot. Right?” _ __   
  


_ “Well, by then I’ll be a full-fledged paleontologist and would have access to the actual sites like the inside of the crater. Not just the stupid parameter around it. Besides, it would have to be that way because I know myself, and I know I would reject any proposal if there was a crowd or audience.” _

 

_ "So harsh, Tsukki~" _

 

_ “It’s true. That’s why the whole ring in champagne flute in a fancy restaurant with the other customers clapping seems unpleasant.” _

 

_ Kuroo laughed, already imagining Tsukki flat out rejecting someone for making him uncomfortable and pressured.  _

 

_ The conversation had started when Tsukki was telling Kuroo about how his brother had proposed not too long ago, Kuroo clutching his stomach as the story went on. The conversation was surprisingly light, not making either of them feel awkward. They weren't dating, and they weren't picturing each other when they talked about their dream proposals. They were kinda ‘friends’...ish. ‘Friends’ who had fun together. At least that's what they told each other. _

 

_ Kuroo had just recently stopped dismissing the slight tingle he got at the pit of his stomach whenever he and Tsukki would be together. It was even more prominent when he still felt dizzy around him when they would just end up hanging out. Neither could deny their chemistry, but both had agreed that romance wasn't allowed. It was a rule Kuroo followed with anyone he was intimate with physically. He couldn't focus on romance _ — _ not when he had his career and volleyball to focus on. Unfortunately, he had grown attached. Kuroo was happy that he wasn't so obvious about his growing infatuation with the younger boy.  _

 

_ “How about you, Kuroo-san? How would you propose? Unless you want to be the one surprised…” _

 

_ "Hmm, I don't know. Never really thought about it. But, I guess I might want it to be private too." And yes, Kuroo knew that Tsukki didn't picture him in his fantasy, but Kuroo couldn't stop his thought from imagining being in a large valley on his knee with a tall blond. It was foolish, but his thoughts were lately filled with nothing but blond hair, sharp golden-honey eyes, and dark rimmed glasses.  _

 

_ “Not interested in monogamy, Kuroo-san?” _

 

_ It was common knowledge that he wasn't a fan of the institution; he was always cynical since growing up in a household with a love-less marriage. He didn't have a problem with other people pairing off and getting married, though, it just wasn't in the stars for him. He, however, couldn't stop himself from feeling pins and needles crawl up his spine as he watched Tsukki's eyes find his own, a sly smirk gently gracing his pale complexion.  _

 

_ "No," he whispered as he repositioned himself so he was on top of the younger man, his free hand sliding up Tsukki's torso, "That's not what I'm interested in right now..." He lowered himself so they were a breath away. His stomach started to flip as he watched a bright blush rise up the blond's neck, his eyes watching Kuroo as he licked his lips slowly. Kuroo caught the motion, bringing his hand to hold Tsukki's face, his thumb tracing the same motion slowly as he pressed his hips down on the others in an unhurried pace.  _

 

_ The friction was doing wonderful things to Tsukki's face, making his eyes flutter and Adam's apple bob fiercely as he swallowed harshly. He watched his kohai's brow crease together as he gently bit down on the thumb that moved between his lips. When Kuroo pushed down harder between Tsukki's legs, he gasped. _

 

_ "AH~Kuroo-san." _

 

_ It sometimes scared Kuroo of how much he ached for Tsukki. He was scared that his longing was more than a small infatuation, that his crush was submerged in feelings that he swore he wouldn’t develop, that his desires bordered passion. It would have been the worst possibility, the worst outcome, his worst nightmare _ — _ his favorite fantasy.  He was scared that he’d want to forever be trapped in his own delusion. He couldn’t have that. _

 

_ “Ku _ — _ uroo-sa _ — _ ah..” _

 

_ He continued to grind against his crotch, the pins and needles on his spine turning into sharp knives as the panting mess beneath him started to move against him, a rich rhythm between them as his hands made their way down to Tsukki's pants.  _

 

_ "Kuro _ — _ ah" _

 

_ All the moans, sensations, and sparks scared him. He was scared that he was falling for someone who couldn't feel the same towards him. That he was falling for someone who he wasn't going to be able to leave. Each touch and gasp scared the living shit out of him. Every time he dove into all Tsukishima Kei was, he was scared of how easily he gave in. _

 

_ "Kuroo." _

 

_ And he was starting to get scared of the day he would no longer have the boy. _

 

_ “…Kuroo...” _

 

_ He was certain the day would come. He made no concession to stop it from happening.  _

 

_ "Nnnh,Te _ — _ tet..." _

 

_ He couldn’t stop it if he tried. _

 

_ " ...Tetsu.." _

 

_ So he took all Tsukishima Kei gave him, scared beyond belief. He didn't know if he'd be able to let go when the moment came, but for now... _

 

_ "Tetsu _ —”

 

_ He was over the fucking moon. _

 

_ “Tetsurou.” _

 

“Kuroo!” 

 

He snapped his head around where he heard Bokuto calling him, walking down the long aisle rolling a large cart with him filled with blue and white flora. He blinked a couple of times, unaware of how long he had been zoning out. He hadn’t even noticed that he had walked across the store. 

 

“Jesus, there you are. I’ve been looking for you for a good five minutes. Where’d you wander off to?” he asked, finally stopping as he reached his friend. He then looked at what Kuroo was (apparently) looking at. “Ooooooooh! Moonflowers!” 

 

Kuroo looked forward and saw that he was standing in front of a large crate full of white moonflowers in pots and others in large bouquets. He didn't even realize they were there until Bokuto had all but screamed. A small smirk played against his mouth, finding the view a bit ironic. 

 

“I should get some of these too! Akaashi would love them! Help me get them in the wagon.” Bokuto started grabbing bouquets and placing them in his cart, Kuroo slowly grabbing a few too.

 

After they made their way to checkout and emptying Bokuto's bank account, they drive to Kuroo's place, where they were currently storing all the necessary items for the big night. As Bokuto started to organize the different colored feathers and telling him to figure out where they would be placed with the flowers, Kuroo drifted back in his thoughts. He really hoped that Tsukishima would accept Akaashi's offer. He'd like to see the blond in a suit again. He'd like to see him smile again, too. 

 

He closed his eyes. He thought back to old times and dinosaurs—to tall blonds, sharp golden-honey eyes, and dark rimmed glasses. 

  
  


**Sugawara**

 

Making dinner was always Sugawara's favorite thing to do after he got off his shift at the hospital. Ever since he and Daichi had watched an episode of some cooking competition with his mom, they were hooked. Sugawara loved coming up with wild recipes and they had adopted the tradition trying out the newest wacky dishes for dinner on Tuesdays. By the time he would finish the main ingredients, Daichi would get home to do the plating and presentation (his favorite part). His husband was still a while away from getting back from school, staying late due to a staff meeting. He was in the middle of baking some sweet yams when his mother decided to call.

 

“So, what are you making? A curry?” she queried.

 

“No, a purée.  _ Purée _ . It’s like mash potatoes, but creamier. I’m making it with some asparagus and glazed cutlets.”

 

“Oh! That sounds neat. What does Daichi-kun think of this purry thing?”

 

Suga sighed good-heartedly. His mother always called on him on Tuesdays, wanting to get an update from his son’s life and rave about food. He was always happy to oblige, sometimes feeling homesick when she talked about everyone who was back in Miyagi. 

 

“We’ll see.”

 

“How did Daichi-kun like his birthday present?”

 

"He really loved it. Thank you. He was complaining about how he didn't have anything to do barbecue. I think we're going to wait till spring to assemble the grill, though."    
  


“Great! Do you boys have enough room?”

 

“Yes, as small as our porch is, we actually have plenty of space left over. Daichi double checked,” he chuckled as he remembered watching the sturdy brunette measure the back porch with tape and meter sticks. 

 

“Oh well, that's good,” he could feel a suspenseful pause, unsure what his mother was thinking about. “It’s just...You sure you boys don’t want to think about coming back here at some point?” 

 

Ah, this conversation. Suga sighed, mentally preparing himself for the discussion ahead. He and Daichi usually have the same conversation with their parents asking them to come back to Miyagi. Though both of them love their hometown, they had new lives in Tokyo. Sugawara was the head nurse in the pediatric ward of a renowned hospital and Daichi was an established teacher in a very forward thinking school. 

 

And neither jobs cared about their relationship status. It was hard to find that kind of progressive thinking in the countryside, no matter how much they both longed for home.

 

“We were just home, Ma. Remember? We had that big party with Ennoshita and Asahi too.”

 

“A visit isn’t what I’m talking about, Koushi. I was talking to your father and apparently the cost of houses has lowered since a few months ago.”

 

“Ma, you know it’s not about the money.”

 

“I thought you might say that, so I took the liberty of doing a little research myself. Did you know the Tohoku University Hospital is opening a new wing for children with cancer? Isn’t that lovely?”

 

“That’s great, Ma. Really but—”

 

“And I’m sure Ukai-san or Takeda-san could help Daichi-kun find a great position nearby. Plus they’re married too, so that should be proof enough that they’re are some  _ liberal _ schools around here.”

 

“Well, Daichi is a great teacher. Merit alone would be fine, but it’s just our lives are—”

 

“Plus you can get a house with a lot more space here.”

 

“Wait, please listen. I don’t want to interrupt you but—”

 

“And you both would be closer to your family here.”

 

“Ma, we’re not going to—”

 

"But it's a better place to raise a family."    
  


Suga stopped mid-sentence, confused if he just heard correctly. Never had either of their parents given up on them moving back home eventually. However, this is the first time anyone brought up anything about kids. 

 

“What?”

 

“Koushi, you can’t expect me to believe raising a child in Tokyo would be better than here? Besides, us grandparents wouldn’t always be able to travel down there.”

 

“No—wait. What? What child?” Sugawara choked out, caught off guard with the conversation. 

 

“...Do you and Daichi-kun not want kids yet? That’s a real shame, you’re both at a good age, Koushi. You should really reconsider.”

 

"Uh," he paused, apprehensive of where this conversation was going. True, he and Daichi had not discussed where to raise a child...mostly because they've never brought up kids. 

 

It wasn't an easy discussion for the couple, especially being gay. It would bring added pressure, and being around children all the time, Sugawara knew the hardships that came with them. 

 

“Oh, sorry dear. Mako from next door is here. I’ll talk to you soon, I have to go.”

 

“Oh, okay. Bye, ma.”

 

“Bye Koushi. And don’t think this discussion is over.” And with that, she hung up, leaving him in a stupor. After a few moments, he went back to checking the meat, shoulders heavy with a new burden. While he continued to prep their meal, he thought back on the subject of having kids. 

 

He had never thought they would, figuring the topic would never arise. But the more he thought about it, he never recalled asking Daichi if he ever wanted children. When the former setter thought of his family, he thought of his parents and relatives back home. And Daichi. He might have considered a pet at some point, but never another human being. 

 

He then heard the front door open, Daichi walking inside with a couple of book bags and a grocery bag with wine. 

 

“Got the vino,” he smiled, shimmying out of his shoes. He put down everything else as he took out the bottle and made his way over to press a gentle kiss on his husband. He pulled away a few inches, smiling down to Sugawara, who was blushing, even after all the years together. “Smells great.” he chimed. 

 

After putting his things away and washing up, Sawamura made his way towards the left counter, hanging his jacket on a hook on the wall and draped an apron on instead (a matching set). The pale haired man watched him take out the dishes from the cupboard and began placing them on the kitchen island. 

 

As he continued to watch him work, Sugawara hoped he wasn't being unfair to him. He would do anything for Daichi, but being responsible for another person was a huge feat. 

 

He felt slightly silly worrying about something that they hadn’t even talked about. He didn’t know why it was bugging him. As he watched his husband place a few greens around the main dish, he tried to picture a child with the man he loved. He tried hard not to smile (and failing) at the idea of holding a baby with dark hair and tan skin.    
  


A family wasn't starting to sound that bad. Anything with Daichi would surely work out. If Daichi wanted it, then Sugawara would find a way to also want it.

 

After dinner, Sugawara went back to thinking if he should bring up having a family. It made him felt queasy. 

 

Did he really want kids? Could he come around to the idea for his husband? Would he be a good father? These thoughts made him feel even sicker.   
  


As they laid in bed later that night, he thought about if he’d have to choose between giving Daichi all he wanted in the world along and possibly asking himself for the first time in their relationship if he was the person who belonged in his arms. 

 

Was this really about children?...

 

Sugawara was being selfish and stupid. Others would kill to be with Daichi Sawamura. Having a family with the man would be a dream come true. 

 

Yet, as much as he wished it to be, it wasn't his. 

 

He was stuck, between the arms of the love of his life and his insecure fear that he made a mistake along the way. He tried to cast away the churning in his stomach as he forced his eyes shut and forced himself to think of strong arms holding a small bundle of joy.

 

Joy, he repeated. If he did it enough, it would grow on him. 

 

Joy. 

 

(repeat)

 

Joy.

 

(repeat)

 

Joy.

 

Sugawara could make adjustments for Daichi. That's all he's ever wanted.

 

Joy.

  
  
  


**_January 15_ **

 

**Bokuto**

  
  


Bokuto always asked for directions—always. It took him three tries to get his license because he didn’t know where to go. He had missed dozens of flights and appointments because he always ran late due to his ineptitude with directions. He’d even been late to his own graduation because he got lost. So when he didn’t look over to ask Akaashi for directions at some point in the drive to the ‘ _ restaurant _ ’ they were supposedly going to, he feared that his boyfriend had already caught onto his ruse.

 

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

 

"Yeah! Don't worry babe. I already drove to this place earlier to make sure." Bokuto assured, a cold sweat coating his forehead. For the most part, he wasn't lying (which was almost always impossible with Akaashi). He and Kuroo had driven out to the spot three times already to make sure Bokuto knew the way, making sure nothing could possibly go wrong. He didn't, however, think to adjust for Akaashi's suspiciousness. 

 

He could feel the small glances that Akaashi kept sending his way every few minutes causing his hands to clam up as he gripped the wheel tighter. When they had gotten out of the city and were surrounded by nothing but countryside, Akaashi had started getting fidgety. He liked organization and order so he, in turn, hated surprises. 

 

“Koutarou, where are we going?” Akaashi asked, his tone giving away his annoyance. 

 

“To eat, duh!” 

 

“Koutarou.”

 

“What? Are you not hungry anymore or somet—”

 

“Tell me. Now.”

 

"Bu—but...You'll ruin the surprise, Keiji!" He blurted, regretting it immediately. "I mean, not surprise, dinner! Yeah, dinner, but not. Instead...there's gonna be other stuff, and of course food-"

 

Akaashi wasn’t a fan of spontaneity, but sometimes Bokuto got away with it; like when he threw him the birthday party less than a month ago. Then other times, Bokuto surprises turn out...not so great. He tried not to remember last year’s terrible birthday camping trip. Not one of his best moment. He mentally prepared to for the scolding he was bound to receive…

 

“...Fine,” Akaashi sighed as he faced forward. Bokuto momentarily froze, unsure how to respond to his cooperativeness. 

 

Bokuto was nervous enough with Akaashi possibly being mad at him, but he felt on edge with this  _ very _ unexpected reaction. 

 

The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt about how Akaashi has been acting strangely recently. Lately, Akaashi has been letting him get away with a lot more foolishness than usual. A lot of stuff, actually. 

 

“Fine?....”

 

“Yes, it’s fine. Really,” the dark haired beauty stated, casually checking his phone, leaving Bokuto in a stupor. “I trust you.”

 

“You sure?” he asked, getting really tense at his boyfriend's odd behavior.

 

"Yes," Akaashi turned with a smile, "I'm sure whatever it is will be fine. Now pay attention to the road before you get lost," He ended, going back to his phone. 

 

With a twinkle in his eyes he did as he was told, his spirits high and more excited about his plan. He’s been nervous with Akaashi’s strange behavior and his jitters but couldn’t help it—he was about to propose to Akaashi and become a husband…

 

Unless he said no. 

 

Bokuto was not an insecure person, by any means, but he had moments of self-doubt. Everyone was aware how easily dejected he could become, but no one worried since Akaashi was always there to lift him back up again. He frowned as he kept driving, wondering if he would be able to pick himself back up if Akaashi said rejected his proposal. 

 

Would they pretend it never happened?

 

Would Akaashi leave him?

 

If they broke up because Bokuto pushed too much or maybe took too long to ask, he knew he would never recover. 

 

No one was more perfect for him than the gentle setter. He would be lost. Unquestionably ruined for the rest of his days. After being together for almost a decade, their lives were intertwined together. Harmonized. 

 

Akaashi was a part of him now. And he loved him. And he wouldn’t lose him. He’d adjust all that he was for the man he loved. Marriage would be a big adjustment but he hoped this wasn’t a mistake. 

 

Shortly after, they arrived at a small closed restaurant of the side of the open road. On the side of the building a large, worn sign advertising a large grove on the grounds. Bokuto turned off the car, grinning as Akaashi looked really confused as he unbuckled himself but didn't say anything. Bokuto was now more jittery as he opened the trunk and took out a small basket, filled with small snacks, finger food, and fruit along with a few cans of soda. 

 

He passed one to Akaashi who had an amused grin on his face, fairly confused about what was happening, but still eager enough to not question and play along.  His grin widened when Bokuto opened the back passenger door and pulled out a small blanket and flashlight. 

 

“Alrighty,” he half-yelled, “Let’s go, babe.”

 

“Is this all part of your ‘not a surprise’ surprise?”

 

“...no,” he fibbed. His boyfriend grinned. 

 

“Ok. Let’s go.”

 

They had gone around the small restaurant towards the back, where Bokuto led them down a dirt path that went across the grove. Flashlight on, they started snacking as they walked through the giant orchard. Bokuto felt more relaxed seeing Akaashi enjoy himself regardless of the change of plans. They walked slowly, talking about their day as they chewed on grapes and crackers. 

 

“By the way, isn’t this technically trespassing?”

 

“Nope, I paid the owner earlier. It’s all good! Your man covered it,” he winked. 

 

"Lucky me," he elbowed him gently causing the loud, pepper haired man to laugh. 

 

After twenty minutes of walking, Bokuto turned to Akaashi, a mischievous grin on his face. Akaashi raised a brow and he sipped on his drink, waiting. Then, his eyes widened as Bokuto slipped a blindfold from his pocket. Akaashi recovered quickly, a small frown gracing his mouth. 

 

“Koutarou, we’re not having sex here.”

 

“What? No, that’s not what this is for!” He flayed his hands back and forth panicking. When Bokuto stopped flailing, he gently nudged the blindfold towards his boyfriend. With a sigh, Akaashi submitted and allowed the wing spiker to put it on him. Bokuto made sure not to tie it too tight as he then gave Akaashi the basket and blanket then proceeded to gently guide him forward. 

 

Akaashi was stiff as they slowly walked for another few minutes. Bokuto knew Akaashi trusted him, but he could be a bit apprehensive. He gently gripped his shoulders, reassuring him that he was there. When they finally reached their destination, Bokuto started to feel flustered again. He wondered if it was a bad idea. Maybe he should talk to Kuroo before he did anything. What if he said no—

 

"Hello, anyone there?" Akaashi asked a moment after he felt them stop and Bokuto let go of him, unsure of what was happening. "Are you going to keep me blindfolded or are you going to let me see this surprise?" He giggled at Bokuto’s silence. 

 

Bokuto swallowed hard, his heartbeat starting to rapidly increase. He took the basket and blanket and placed them to the side as he gently started to untie the blindfold, hoping for the best. 

 

When the fabric slipped off, Akaashi he still had his eyes closed in anticipation. He hummed for permission, making Bokuto's stomach to do back flips. The larger man took a small step towards him, placing a hand on his back as the other adjusted his face to look to the side. 

 

“You,” he whispered in his ear, “you can open your eyes now.”

 

His lashes fluttered as he opened his lids, steel blue eyes reflecting the whole galaxy. 

 

They had walked towards the outskirts of the large orchard to a bank on a small lake covered in blue and white feathers and matching flowers illuminated by rustic lanterns. The more he looked, the more he appeared lost in the scene. There were small candles around in glass vases giving the bankside soft lighting that reflected off the water. When his eyes traveled further into the lake, he saw small sparkles. He looked up and saw the entire night sky covered in radiant speckled light. He slowly eased out of Bokuto's hold and walked towards the edge careful not to step on all the hard work Bokuto did. He stood still, gaze held by the view. 

 

Bokuto just watched him, unsure of what to do or say. He hadn’t gushed out like Bokuto had hoped he would, but he was still calm. He started to get restless trying to figure out what to say and how to take his boyfriend’s reaction. 

 

"I wanted to take you stargazing, but we couldn't really do that in the city, so, I figured this would do…" he murmured, his nerves getting the better of him. 

 

Akaashi looked frozen and Bokuto was starting to get even jumpier. "Do...you like it?" The ravenhead seemed to snap out of his trance, turning back to face his boyfriend. 

 

“Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about our friends.” 

 

That… was the most unromantic thing that could have been said. Akaashi immediately registered how it came across, watching Bokuto’s nervous expression turn blank. He quickly tried to reassure him before he got in a mood.

 

“Ah no, not like that. I love this, I love it. I do! Thank you.” He corrected himself, but Bokuto seemed dejected still. He then sighed heavily, annoyed at the miscommunication. 

 

"Koutarou I love it. What I meant to say is that I was thinking how our friends," he started and then calmly turned back to the view, "...how they aren't as happy as they should be. And being with you—you, who would do this for me—I wish they could know my happiness…" 

 

**Now** . It was now. He started taking a few step to reach him.

 

“And  how lucky we are to have found each other…”

 

He reached in his pocket.

 

“And how much I love you.”

 

He got on his right knee.

 

“And how much I never want to know what it feels like to be without you,” Akaashi choked as he felt a sting in his eyes and a smile broke across his face. He reached for his breast pocket, “Koutarou, will you ma-”

 

Akaashi finally turned and froze when he couldn't see anyone behind him. A momentary panic consumed him before he noticed a slight movement beneath him. He then looked down to see Bokuto on his knee, holding out a small open box with a slender silver ring shining against the soft light of the lanterns and stars. 

 

Bokuto saw the shocked look on younger man’s face and, for a moment, wondered if he'd say no. They stayed still for a few seconds until Bokuto cleared his throat. He had to ask, he needed to show Akaashi the lengths he would go. He couldn't help but feel a clenching in his gut when Akaashi started to shake his head slightly at the sight of him. He wanted to take it back, but he had come too far. He dug deep for what little courage he had left. 

 

“Keiji.”

 

He tried to ignore the pang in his heart when he saw him hold up his hand to stop him.

 

"I love you," his smile looked broken as he tried to best not to sob.

 

Then Akaashi looked away from him. 

 

He hoped his worst nightmare wasn't happening. Knowing that it was all a mistake by the drop of the brunet's shoulder and the glassiness of his eyes—that it was all over. They might not come back from this. 

 

Bokuto tried to ignore the wetness sliding down his cheeks and the shaking of his hands. 

 

It hurt more than he feared.

 

“Will you...marry me?”

 

Neither of them moved for what felt like ages. After another minute of stillness, his resolve faded away. Bokuto dropped his hands and dipped his head as fresh tears ran down his face, devastated. He stood up with a sniffle, whispering an apology, closing the velvet box and sliding it back in his pocket as he—

 

“ _ Yes _ .”

 

He snapped his head to gawk at the tear streaked face of Akaashi, who had a smile more beautiful than any he's ever seen before. 

 

“Yes,” sniff, ”yes,” he choked with a silent sob.

 

He was still at a lost as he saw him reach into his pocket and pull out a small box of his own. He sniffled as he opened it and turned it towards Bokuto.

 

“But...only if you say yes too.” He gently nudged the box to him.

 

Bokuto stared down at the small ring, both dark and light as he registered what Akaashi had just asked him. He felt lightheaded as goose bumps made their way down his limbs. Akaashi then gently stepped forward and reached for the other box still in Bokuto's hand. He gently grabbed his hand and switched their boxes forcing Bokuto to look up and break out into a tearful laugh as he immediately recovered and kissed Akaashi fiercely. They moved against one another, a quiet passion slowly enrapturing them as each motion felt deeper and closer. They began to open slowly as Akaashi licked his lips, yearning for more. They held on to each other, leaving no space between them as Bokuto pressed on, embracing everything Akaashi was with every fiber of himself—completely giving in. After a few moments longer, they finally separated and giggled as they finally took out their respective rings and slid it on their hands. 

 

They laid down on the blanket atop petals and feathers, looking up at the stars and holding hands, each caressing their new ring and fiancé. They talked about honeymoons and joked about dresses. 

 

As they cuddled under the starlight, Bokuto reached for Akaashi’s cheek, turning his face to embrace their lips once again. When Akaashi opened wide letting his tongue explore more, he basked in the warmth. When it came to Akaashi, he always wanted more, and Akaashi indulged him. 

 

His love for him burned; he ached for him. They stayed under the starlight surrounded by moonflowers and feathers, harmonized. 

 

* * *

  
  


**Next Chapter: Comforts**

Iwaizumi, Kageyama, Tsukishima, Kuroo

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom, did it—They’re engaged! Now, I had a few things to say about this chapter.
> 
> Yes, this story will focus on what will feel like an overabundance of couples and character perspectives, so if anyone has trouble understanding or wants a more organized view of how the chapters are going to be constructed, please let me know. I’m willing to adjust and alter things if it’s easier to the readers. Don’t be shy.
> 
> Also, yes, there will be some people who have more than one pairing. How that all comes to light, you’ll just have to be a bit more patient. But please don’t ship-hate. That shit petty as hell.
> 
> So, please let me know what you guys thought of the chapter and the story so far.
> 
> Once again, thank you slave editor - perlaparrot
> 
> However, it is usually against her will so if anyone out there is willing to lend me their gifted editing skills, that’d be groovy. Till chapter 4!
> 
>  
> 
> ~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Like~
> 
> -TheHiveinJune-


	4. Comforts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4!!!!! This one was tough. I was going to I cut off the last one, but decided against it. I really, REALLY like how the flow of this chapter worked out. That being said, there is some soft-foreplay at the end and I’ll warn you now - I don’t know how to write anything SEXY. I’m not used to writing anything explicit but I did my best to make it come across believable. Now that you’ve been warned, I hope you can bare with me. Also, some new perspectives that will give us more depth on some relationships. The ending might seem like everything could be resolved soon, but I’ll break the news now, I intend this story to be looooong. Again, a big round of applause to my slave editor, Perlaparrot, who’s really hoping I find another editor or beta reader soon, if anyone’s interested. That’s all for now, so, here you go!
> 
> ~The Hive in June~
> 
>  
> 
> Notes from Perlaparrot: “Ya’ll need lives.”
> 
>  
> 
> Notes from my brother: “Hey fam. Lots of gay shit in this one. Enjoy yourselves.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_Chapter 1: Certainty_

_Chapter 2: Caution_

_Chapter 3: Concessions_

**Chapter 4: Comforts**

_For the pleasure, the luxury of warmth_

_Of a small relief or burning hunger_

_Of old desires and longing_

* * *

 

 

 

  
  


**_January 17_ **

 

**Iwaizumi**

 

“Doctor Isobe to the ICU. Doctor Isobe to the ICU.”

“And what kind of insurance do you and your wife have, sir?”

“Your father’s release forms are being processed and you should be set within the hour.”

“She’s in Room-B3 on the second floor.”

“Can you go run to the supply room and get extra gauze?”

 

Iwaizumi didn’t remember when he had started taking his breaks in the nurses' station, but after his first year in his post-op tutelage, he had found the constant humming of ever moving nurses and the nonstop demands to patients, doctors, and on the phone a comfortable sort of chaos. He would drink his tea in the morning with Sugawara in the east wing, have a sandwich between his shifts while Yamaguchi did all the surgical scheduling for the day, and he and Mattsun would sometimes do their crosswords during their breaks behind the counter between the desk and the coffee machine. With all the bustling and noise in the background, Iwaizumi felt there was no better method to clear his head.

 

He had just finished his morning rounds and was currently waiting for Yamaguchi to finish faxing out a few papers to grab a bite to eat. He sat on a comfy rolling chair behind Yamaguchi’s station, staring up onto the ceiling, eagerly waiting to get home. He had a long graveyard shift for the fourth day in a row and he was feeling rough. After food, he would only have to review his new patient’s stats and be on his merry way home. He would sleep till the new moon… or until he had to get ready for his date later.

“So? You excited?” He turned his head from the ceiling to the kind freckled man who was approaching him with a fresh batch of pristine white papers contrasting vastly against his soft tan scrubs.  

 

“For?

 

“Your date, of course. What else?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” he looked back towards the white plaster and sighed low enough so Yamaguchi couldn’t hear, “Should be fun.”

 

“Yeah, he’s really fun. Hitoka always talks about how he is really good at darts when they go to this dive bar nearby. He’s handsome, too!”

 

“Oh, yeah?” He couldn’t remember why he agreed to go on a blind date set up by Yamaguchi. He was probably sleep deprived when he agreed, or Mattsun had pressured him.

 

“Yeah, and he’s your type, too.” Iwaizumi scrunched his forehead, turning once again to his friend.

“And how would you know what my type is, exactly?” he asked, curious.

 

“I showed Mattsun a picture. And he just turned with a scary grin and said he was your type.” Iwaizumi felt his left eye twitch, taking a mental raincheck to reprimand his nosey friend.

 

“So, you showed him a picture of this guy, but you won’t show me? What if we end up missing the whole date because I don’t know who he even is?”

 

“He’s seen your picture.”

 

"Oh, c'mon then. How's that fair?" He protested. He had agreed to a blind date with the assumption that he wouldn't be the only one who had zero clue what to expect. He had gone to get drinks with Yamaguchi and his girlfriend who had told him that she knew someone who would be really interested in him.  And since he wasn't currently seeing anyone, he didn't think there would be any harm in meeting this guy. Both his old friends, Mattsun and his longtime boyfriend Makki, were having a hoot over the idea of him going on this date. Oikawa would probably make fun of him too if he knew.

 

"It's not. But I promised Mattsun and Hitoka I wouldn't show you," he turned to him with a gentle smile, "If it makes you feel better, both Daichi-san and Suga-san thinks he's very handsome. So you can rest assured that I'm not egging you on."

 

“They’re too nice. It’s not like they would say anything else. Now, if you told me your grouchy friend thought so too, then I’d be convinced.”

 

“Tsukki? Hmm, well, I don’t know what he’d say exactly. But I doubt he’d call him ugly.”

 

“I’d believe you...if you would just show me,” he exasperated.

 

“Why are you being so persistent?” he asked while shuffling the papers into the filing cabinet, then he looked up with a small grin, “Are you excited, Iwaizumi-san?” He looked at the younger man with a blank face.

 

“No. I just like to know what the person looks like since everyone had apparently seen him. Besides, it’s just a date,” he shrugged, standing when Yamaguchi closed the cabinet and grabbed his bento, “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Yamaguchi turned to him wearily, then sighed as he began to walk, Iwaizumi following closely behind.

 

“Why are you like that?”

 

“Like what?”

 

"So aloof. About a date," he turned sharply at him as they continued, "You know, you might actually like him," he huffed. Iwaizumi shrugged nonchalantly, not really sure what the nurse expected out of him. He sighed at the older man wearily, almost like he was used to the behavior. "I'll never understand you guys."

 

“Hmm?” Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what he meant. Guys? Yamaguchi sighed again, a small smile gracing his lips as he shook his head slightly.

 

"Tsukki is the same way. Except I know he actually goes on dates," his face quickly dropped and his lips turned downwards, "Or on ‘non-dates.’" Iwaizumi raised a brow.

 

"Really? He doesn't seem like the type..."

 

"A bad habit he picked up in Uni," his frown deepened. Then, his face lit up. "Oh, you heard about Bokuto-san and Akaashi-san, right?"

 

“No. What happened?” Iwaizumi was well acquainted with everyone and anyone that had anything to do with the national team, being best friends with one of their star setters. The last time he talked to the beefy spiker was last month, so he didn’t really have any idea of the latest gossip.

 

"They're engaged!" He marveled. Iwaizumi stopped his steps, flabbergasted. A grin broke out across his face at the big news. He was aware of how long the couple had been together, and how long they've known each other. It was about time. He wondered if Oikawa knew already, being on the same team as Bokuto. He looked back at Yamaguchi, who now sported a small blush and faraway look in his eyes.

 

When they found a seat at the cafeteria, Iwaizumi asked Yamaguchi what he was thinking about. He tried to look away and dismiss the question but eventually gave in to Iwaizumi's blank face. He then proceeded to tell him what happened, after hearing it from Yachi, who heard it from Kageyama, who was told the story from Bokuto on how they both proposed. Iwaizumi accidently laughed when he heard that Bokuto started to cry when he thought Akaashi rejected him, much to the scolding of Yamaguchi. It was just funny to imagine the big, loud, almost cartoonish wing spiker being all sensitive and crying his eyes out. After apologizing, the nurse finished his retelling of the story.

 

"Well, I tried to tell Tsukki the news, but apparently, he already knew. He went with Akaashi-san to go buy his engagement ring for Bokuto-san! He didn't even tell me. Which I understand, secrecy and all that,"  then he started blushing again, making Iwaizumi smirk as he bit into his sandwich. "But he told me about these stores he went to with him...and how they have really nice rings. Ones, that maybe I might be interested in buying. That's all."

 

“Oh? Really now? You thinking about popping the question to Yachi? Since when?” he interrogated, curious as to when the shy man had even decided on such a big step.

 

“Um, well. I don’t know, a year, maybe?” Iwaizumi’s faced dropped.

 

“A whole year? And you're barely doing it now?!” he roared.

 

“I don’t know! I just didn’t...Besides, now I know Tsukki will go with me.”

 

“If he’d even want to do that all over again.”  


"He is my best friend."

 

“Point being? Kid’s still a grouch.”

 

“Well, so are you Iwaizumi-san,” he giggled behind his hand as Iwaizumi made a face, “But even I’m positive that if Oikawa asked you to go with him to find a ring, you’d go.”

 

Iwaizumi looked back down at his own food at the comment. Yamaguchi then proceeded to talk about if he could get the upcoming weekend off to go looking then. As he kept talking, Iwaizumi thought back to what he said about Oikawa.

 

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he would accompany his best friend to shop for an engagement ring. Maybe he was harsh to think so, but he figured it would be for the best. He would probably end up beating Oikawa to a pulp out of frustration. Thankfully, it wasn’t a rational fear he had to worry about. He knew Oikawa would never ask, he’d end up surprising him with a ring instead.

 

He and the flamboyant setter had always been close. They’ve been best friends since childhood, much to Iwaizumi’s false annoyance. Their closeness, however, had been merciless.

 

Oikawa's temper almost never got the better of him. He usually just let small things slide or even have short bursts of frustration occasionally but...he never thought Oikawa was cruel. Not like Iwaizumi. He could rip him apart and break your heart without so much finishing a full sentence. And it had all started in their third (and last) year at Aoba Johsai.

 

During the first couple of weeks, they were all trying to get a feel of the first years and Oikawa was trying to adjust being captain of an all-around powerhouse volleyball team. There was nothing more important than that, or more exhausting. Besides beating Kageyama, for Oikawa (much to everyone else's bane—especially Iwaizumi).

 

They had persevered and their team was strong. And even though they were equals, Iwaizumi had grown to admire his best friend that year. He had blossomed into a fine captain, a strong competitor, and still managed to stay the same friend Iwaizumi had grown up with.

 

Then one day, none of that mattered.

 

They had lost their last chance at nationals, and their time had come to an end. All of their hard work, all their effort, all their potential no longer mattered. At the end, he had failed to connect, to get the last point. And as he began to break, his best friend—his strong, talented, ambitious, admirable best friend—held him together. Oikawa's shoulders were heavy with the entire team's burden that day. He held himself up and kept their team strong. He'd been strong for the both of them.

 

At some point, he had lost track of him after their loss. When he reappeared he had the fire back in his eyes. The one he always had when he thought about Ushiwaka. Iwaizumi could never look away when he saw that fire. He had kept that fire when they had gotten back to school, during their meeting, and as they walked to Iwaizumi's house. Once in the sanctuary of his room, he saw the flames in Oikawa's eyes start to fade.

 

They had washed up and changed and laid next to each other, and his eyes were turning dull with grief. As they had tried to overcome their anguish, he felt a pull on his heart. He reached for his friend, hoping he wasn't falling down the rabbit hole. When he had grasped his hand, his eyes stung when he heard him gasp back a sob.

 

_“Shit...We were so close, Iwa-chan. So fucking close.”_

 

As he heard his choked breaths and attempts to not cry, his hand had somehow found its way to Oikawa's face. At some point, he had turned and they had found each other's eyes.  Iwaizumi's were red and puffy from crying earlier in the shower, and Oikawa's were squinted as hot streams of tears fell from his fire-filled eyes. And like that, his lips had found their way to his best friend's.

 

He kissed his friend despite the salty taste from the tears, despite the agony they couldn't shake, and despite Iwaizumi's denial for how he had felt more than friendship for him for a long time. He hated himself for being selfish, but it felt like the right thing to do. And when he felt Oikawa's lips start to move against his, all the weight on his shoulders started to slip away. With each movement, with each tentative touch of their hands slowly finding a place in their hair and on their body, with each small awkward bite or nibble of their lips all the stress of the day laid forgotten as Iwaizumi was overtaken with need.

 

And so he kissed him—because he hated to see his best friend cry, because even though they felt raw and wounded they would grow stronger from this agony, and because he had been so confused and so undeniably in love with Oikawa that he didn't want to feel any more regret.

 

He burned for him. He loved that Oikawa ran hot, embers igniting anyone who got close enough. He loved the fire.

 

_“I love you, Oikawa.”_

 

Now, years later, his heart was filled with nothing but regret. They had gone so far that night that there was no sense in denial anymore. He wanted all of Oikawa, all that Oikawa would give him. His heart swelled when he found out that his best friend always felt the same, maybe even for longer. Putting aside their past relationships and their recent losses, they had begun to explore exactly what they could be. Iwaizumi was happy, he was whole, and they were together.

 

Then he caught Oikawa trying to hide his acceptance letter to Chuo University. He had been scouted for their national winning volleyball team, and Iwaizumi couldn't understand why he wouldn't tell him he got into his dream school. They had a fight when Oikawa told him that he could always go to Tohuko University—the university that Iwaizumi had chosen to attend for his medical degree. Oikawa had tried to convince him that he could play volleyball anywhere, that he could play for any school. Iwaizumi had lost his shit.

 

So, as they had continued their relationship, Iwaizumi had continued to demand that he attend Chuo. Yes, he wanted to go to the same school as him, he knew that Oikawa would be welcomed by any school he wanted to attend, he knew that it could all work out for them. They could still be together. Then Oikawa told him that he had been accepted to Tohuko, and Iwaizumi was elated, then he felt like scum. He had actually been excited that Oikawa would give everything he stood for...for Iwaizumi. He was vermin, awful, and trash.

 

His friend deserved better than trash.

 

Oikawa never lost his temper, and he was never cruel—not like Iwaizumi.

 

So Iwaizumi had to be cruel for both of them.

 

He had written to Tohuko for Oikawa and rejected their offer, and wrote Chuo accepting Oikawa's place on the team. The problem was he knew Oikawa too well.  He knew his friend would lose his temper, would be frustrated, and demand that Iwaizumi had to accept that Oikawa would always choose _him_ over his dream.

 

And so Iwaizumi, with all the heartbreak and agony, chose for the both of them.

 

He would be strong for the both of them.

 

He told Oikawa that he couldn’t be with him anymore, that they had to end it. That they would go to different schools, and that they would both chase their dreams—separately. He had prepared himself days before, spilling all his tears early on to stay strong when the moment came. As Oikawa sobbed and hit his chest and demanded that he take it back and tell him that he was joking, that he didn’t mean it, Iwaizumi stood there motionless, not taking back any of his words.

 

_“This is over… We can’t be together... I’m sorry Oikawa.”_

 

And without saying anything else, he ripped him apart. With that, he broke him. With a hard heart, he left Oikawa to pick up the pieces by himself this time around.

 

He would not help him back up, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn't be with him—he couldn't hold him back from his future. He would not be the reason that Oikawa's dreams didn't come true. He would do anything to make sure that Oikawa had all he had ever longed for—even if Iwaizumi had to lose the one thing he ever wanted, even if he had to break his own heart. Life was cruel to him, but he endured. He would be strong for the both of them.

 

As eight years passed, Iwaizumi still felt the same. Even after all the sleepless nights and endless crying, he couldn't be selfish. Even after they had reconnected a few mere weeks after their breakup, he promised himself he wouldn't be selfish. He promised himself he could not be with him if he would only be a burden.

 

And his resolve stayed strong.

 

He stayed strong at the numerous times Oikawa had asked to be with him again, had been strong when he had to resist Oikawa's advances, stayed strong after he moved to Tokyo and saw him more often. He stayed strong when they met up for parties, and birthdays, and group outings and gravitated towards each other. He stayed strong all these years because even though he's never stopped loving him, even though he's dated from time to time and knew Oikawa did too, even though he had his career going and Oikawa was in the national team, he would still hold Oikawa down.

 

So he had decided a long time ago that he would wait—wait until he was finished with his tutelage and be chosen to be the private physician for the national volleyball team. Only then he would finally be good enough for Oikawa. He would be someone who would only help him achieve his dream. Only then could he ask to try again, to ask for forgiveness after all these years.

 

It also didn’t help that he knew Oikawa never dated seriously. If he was being honest, though, he was glad that they both had come to a silent understanding. Oikawa never told him of the people he was dating (unless it was one of the few times when they were younger and he tried to rile him up and get him jealous when they were drunk) and Iwaizumi never mentioned anyone either. Neither had been in a serious enough relationship to bring it up to the other, refraining the heartache. Once they were both in a place to only elevate one another, they would no longer have to resist the gravity that always seemed to force them together. There would be no stopping them. Or stopping Iwaizumi, at least.

 

So no, he would not expect Oikawa to ask him to go ring shopping with him. He would expect a huge parade instead. One with disgusting floats and all their friends. He would expect a grand gesture because that's who Oikawa was. So when that time came, he would be the one to ask. There was no other outcome in Iwaizumi's mind—it wasn't a chance, it was destined. Kismet.

 

"So, what does Oikawa think of this date of yours?"

 

He was finally walking out of the hospital with Mattsun into the afternoon air, brisk and cold during winter. He no longer had on his scrubs but a nice wool coat and a scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. He also wore the gloves Oikawa had given him for Christmas. He side eyed Mattsun, who only gave him a knowing smirk, well aware of his answer.

 

“Why would I tell Shittykawa?” he could see Mattsun in his peripheral miming his answer in mockery, as if quoting him word for word, “It’s just a date.”

 

He scowled as his friend openly laughed at his answer. When they got to the station and noted his train was about to arrive, he clarified to his friend before as he heard the train turn in the tunnel.

 

"It's not like it matters."

 

“You’re so stubborn. See ya’ tomorrow.”

 

“See ya.”

 

He waved to his old friend as he boarded his train, Mattsun giving him a head nod as he grinned sadly at him. When he got home, he showered away the past twenty-four hours of stress and labor, ate a snack and decided to take a short nap. As he laid on his lumpy couch, he texted Oikawa asking him if he was sleeping properly and to not pick on Kageyama so much.

 

As he felt his eyes grow heavy, he wondered what Yamaguchi meant that his date was his type and what would make Mattsun an expert. Did he even have a type… He tried not to think negatively. He was curious about the kind of person we would meet.

 

Did he have light brown hair and a cheeky attitude?

 

Did he seem like the guy to intentionally piss him off?

 

Was he ambitious and talented and strong and admirable?

 

He let out a small chuckle, reminding himself that it didn't really matter.

 

This guy could be as handsome as they come, it didn't matter. He can be irritable and good looking, could gush about himself and aliens, could be endearing and over dramatic, it didn't matter. He wouldn't hold a candle to his future. He wouldn't have a comfortable sort of chaos to him. He wouldn't have fire in his eyes.

  


**_January 18_ **

 

**Kageyama**

  


Sometimes Kageyama wondered what he did in his past lives to be cursed with constantly dealing with overzealous people and their constant luck with happiness. He was currently sitting against the side wall of the team gymnasium on his water break listening—for the _three-hundredth_ time—to Bokuto retell his fairytale proposal.

 

It had been only a few days, and Kageyama already knew it by heart. The first time he heard it was great. The second and third time were still fine. By the twentieth time, he was ready to claw someone’s eyes out.

 

He was happy for him, for the both of them. They deserved each other, and only Akaashi would be able to put up with Bokuto. He turned back to the loud spiker who had just gotten to telling the younger team manager the part where he thought Akaashi had rejected him. And like clockwork, he heard Oikawa attempt to hold back his laugh. He didn’t have a problem with the story, but hearing it over and over again only kept reminding everyone of how happy they were. And _some people_ might not be appreciative of being reminded of how perfect other people’s love lives were compared to theirs.

 

Kageyama rose from the wall slowly, not wanting to listen anymore. He was happy for them; they made a great couple. He knew plenty of great couples: Sugawara-san and Daichi-san, Bokuto-san and Akaashi-san, his neighbors Yaku and Lev, and Kenma and Hinata.

 

Especially Kenma and Hinata.

 

He walked over to Oikawa who was practicing his serves who stopped and turned when he noticed Kageyama there.

 

"You're going to get frown lines, Tobio-chan." He smiled.

 

He tried his best to ignore his senpai, focusing on his breathing as he began to serve. As one ball after another made it's way across the net, Kageyama tried his best not to feel his blood boiling as he attempted to ignore Bokuto repeating his story AGAIN.

 

He gets it—they're happy, have a perfect relationship, yadda yadda.

 

Kageyama bit his lip trying to fight a scowl. His spit tasted bitter. After setting the ball out of bounds a dozen more times, Oikawa pulled him aside.

 

“What the matter?” he asked. Kageyama tried his best to not sulk.

 

“Nothing. It’s just getting annoying hearing Bokuto ramble all the time, is all.” He looked at his feet when he heard Oikawa sigh. He knew he wasn’t the only one getting annoyed with him too, but he seemed to be the only one who was getting upset.

 

“Well, can you blame him? I’m sure anyone would be acting the same if it were them.”

 

“Not me,” he corrected. He heard Oikawa snort and he stared him down as he tried his best to cover his mouth.

 

“Well that’s because nobody’s dumb enough to date you,” he chuckled, “Not even the pipsqueak.”

 

Kageyama gave him the coldest glare he could muster. Registering his mood, Oikawa tried to wave off his reaction, telling him he didn’t mean it. After a moment, he smirked back at him with his hand on his hip, wondering if he hit a sore spot.

 

“I was only joking.”

 

“Tch,” he wasn’t in the mood for Oikawa’s harassment. He was stopped before he could turn away from the older man. “I don’t have time for this, right now. If you’re just going to make fun of me, then let go.”

 

“Fine, but cool down a bit. Take a walk, it’s not like your serves were working anyways.”

 

"Yeah, whatever." He decided to walk to the convenient store across the street, trying to calm himself from what Oikawa said.

 

Then he felt his eye twitch remembering about someone having to be and idiot for being with him. His shoulders slumped at the thought, a sense of defeat wavering over him. He tried not to dwell on it too much. Besides, it's not like any of it mattered. The only person he knew that was truly stupid was already in a relationship—and they made a great couple.

 

They were _happy_ and had a _perfect_ relationship...yadda yadda.

 

He grabbed a small box of milk and some pocky when he got to the store. As he was making his way to the cashier his phone vibrated. He checked it quickly and saw that he had a calendar reminder that Hinata was getting back tomorrow. His hand gripping the phone tightly and pushed the side button to lock it. He paid and started walking back.

 

He figured he should give him a call soon. He’s been at the firehouse for over a week. He tried not to dwell on Hinata much. It wasn’t his place, but he did miss him. The last time they actually hung out was at his and Akaashi’s party, and his boyfriend was there. It was really nice of Kenma to help plan it out, along with Tsukishima.

 

He and the tall blond had a strange friendship where they denied to have anything other than malice towards the other, but they did have a strong sense of loyalty and understanding. However, he and Kenma weren’t close in the least, regardless of the fact that he was dating his best friend.

 

It's not like it mattered. Kenma was with the dumbass now, and he was happy for them. Even if he was jealous—has been for six years. Which is ridiculous.

 

Maybe if he was braver in high school, things would be different. They had somehow become each other's closest friend by their second year in Karasuno, despite their aggressive dynamic towards the other. They were competitive and reckless. And through endless practice, training camps, and tournaments he had fallen for the mouthy redhead.

 

He felt like the dumbass. And if he thought about it, he knew why he never said anything to him, why he never took a chance.

 

He couldn't lose him. So he chose cowardice.

 

He couldn't sleep for a week when he realized how he felt when he was a teenager, but he figured that his feelings would dissipate. But even at 23, he still felt like a hormonal and confused 16-year-old.

 

But they were still friends, so at least he hadn't messed that up. As he got back to the gym, he felt fine enough to continue practice.

 

He called Hinata a few hours later, leaving a message on his answering machine. He knew that he was just feeling low out of envy and one-sided jealousy (and Bokuto’s endless bragging), but he didn't really have any outlet. Unlike Hinata, he didn't have a relationship to distract himself with as he was in denial about having feelings for his best friend. He tried not to frown when he thought for a second that the universe put Hinata and Kenma out of spite of him. Kageyama was blessed with a genius that wasn't matched, but with his gifts, he was cursed with watching the person he loved be happy with someone else. And he endured, and he told himself to be happy for them. For him. For now.

  


**_January 21_ **

**Tsukishima**

  


Tsukishima was the last person left in the lab going over research, as per usual. It was a common occurrence for him. He enjoyed his work and staying a little longer never bothered him. His work life never suffered, being someone who always put their responsibilities and duties before their social life. He still found time for Yamaguchi and his other friends from time to time, and now that he and Akaashi had become close again, he found himself sometimes staying late less.

 

However, without the audience of his co-workers or any of his superiors keeping an eye out, he tended to relax and do things he wouldn't usually be able to get away with. He listened to music on his headphones when he cleaned the new shipments, brought snacks in and ate as he wrote his dissertation inside the labs, and he even, on occasion, was on his phone checking out social media. And one crazy time, he didn't bring his gloves before entering.

 

He was a rebel in a lab coat. He also used this extra time to catch up with friends.

 

“This weekend? Nothing I think. Why, what did you have in mind?”

 

“Well,” he heard Yamaguchi pause, and already knew where this was going. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind coming with me to find a ring for Hitoka...Please?”

 

He rolled his eyes, wondering why he ever mentioned anything. Going ring shopping with Akaashi was definitely better than going with Akiteru, but he was still uncomfortable. Especially when he remembered how it ended. Going with Yamaguchi, as annoying as he knew it would be, was something he would go no matter.

 

Didn’t mean he had to pretend to be excited.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Really?!”

 

“Well, yes. I’d just be an asshole if I said no.”

 

“I know you don’t mean that.”

 

"Of course, I do."

 

“Awe~ Tsukki, you do care.”

 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

 

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

 

He had a fair assumption that Yamaguchi was smiling. Regardless of how annoying it would be, he was happy that Yamaguchi was finally taking the next step with Yachi. The small blonde was his better half in plenty of ways. She was kind, ambitious, and could direct Yamaguchi out of his awkward slumps. She was always there when Tsukishima couldn’t be. He couldn’t have found a better co-pilot. “Then after looking, we can hang out and grab dinner. Hitoka works for the most part but only has to stop by for a meeting on Sunday, so we can grab dinner together. Does Sunday work?”

 

“Sure, What time?”

 

“Um, noon okay?” He looked over to his calendar, seeing his weekend wide open.

 

"Yeah, that should be fine." Then the blond heard a loud growl and looked down to his stomach, wondering what time he last ate. He looked at the clock, realizing how late it had gotten without food. He figured now was a good time as any to lock up. "I'm actually about to leave, so I'll message you tomorrow about this. Yeah?"

 

“Oh, sure. Get home safe, okay.”

 

“Yeah, no problem. Bye.”

 

“Alright, bye bye. And don’t forget to eat som—” He hung up before Yamaguchi finished. His friends still nagged him about taking care of himself that he had long been used to ignoring it for the most part. They knew he took care of himself well enough. He was a fucking adult. As he put his paperwork away and hung his coat, he took out his phone and searched for some takeout places near his place.

 

He knew most of the restaurant he frequented, but today he wasn’t feeling any of them. It was a quarter past 9 so most of his regular spots were closed. As he scrolled down his options, he found a place he had never been to that happened to be open till late. It had high ratings, reasonable prices, and an extensive menu. He figured that the restaurant must have only recently become tech savvy, seeing as how it’s apparently been open for a few years now and was only a few blocks away from his flat. They had agedashi tofu, soba, ika geso, and tempura.

 

When he walked out of the museum, he saw that they also had salted mackerel and it was decided. It had been a long time since he had some really good salted mackerel— about four years. The thing was, only Kuroo knew the best places for it.

 

He let out a low groan, reprimanding his thought for betraying him for what was possibly the millionth time. He's felt stupid, wondering why he couldn't seem to get the older man out of his head. Over the years, Tsukishima had always kept a clear head when it came to the cat enthusiast. However, ever since his conversation with Akaashi he's been doomed with constantly thinking about him. What was more pathetic was knowing that his chronic reflecting and stupid musing was all one-sided; he honestly doubted that Kuroo would ever be thinking so much about him.

 

Tsukishima knew that he would have to find a way to deal with the never-ending pondering since he was going to be a part of Akaashi’s and Bokuto’s wedding. He had already texted Akaashi a few days after they met up and told him he’d be a groomsman. So as the best man to Bokuto, Kuroo would be around all the time.

 

Would that be such a bad thing?

 

Jesus.

 

Tsukishima wanted to slap himself. He had more goddamn self-control than this. He always prided himself in keeping a level head on his shoulders.

 

One man can't be all it took for his entire psyche to come undone and turn him into a stupid teenage girl with an unhealthy obsession. He was better than that, for fuck's sake.

 

As he waited for his train on his platform, the former middle blocker thought back to where he would be in the wedding party. He wondered if he’d look ridiculous in the tuxes. He pouted, wondering if he would need to learn a stupid dance when he walked down the aisle with another groomsman…

 

It would probably be Kuroo’s idea. It would be cheesy—cheesy enough that the wedding crowd would enjoy it because they’re simpletons and would all dance along with the catchy poppy tune. And at the end of the aisle, Akaashi would be hating it silently, but would eventually go along with it because Bokuto would love it and dance along, while Tsukishima would have to deal.

 

He would have to deal with sentimental speeches, deal with holding poses and making silly faces for pictures, deal with dancing with Bokuto’s great-aunt who’d only reach to his sternum and he’d pretend not to notice as she wheezes on his tie and attempt to cop a feel on his ass.

 

The only joy he would have being a part of the wedding party would be Akaashi’s and Bokuto’s first dance when Bokuto would fling the smaller man around the dance floor, and when Kenma would probably walk down the aisle while on his phone, and Kuroo charming the entire venue with his handsome looks and his engaging nature.

 

Kuroo would be giving out tissues as Bokuto and Akaashi gave their vows, would end up dancing with Akaashi’s lewd cougar godmother, and would end up catching the bouquets (yes, both of them). As stupid and pathetic as it might be, Tsukishima really was looking forward to all things Kuroo.

 

It would be a challenge trying to keep a level head, but he would keep his distance. With his current self, he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself at close proximity to the older man. Distance would be his ally during the time leading up to the wedding.

 

However, on the small occurrences when they would see each other, he would let a small part of him bask in the wanderlust of what he wished they could have been. They would make small talk during the engagement party and would flirt a little in the bachelor party, and when the wedding came, they would share a dance or two, and then Tsukishima would be satisfied.

 

For the end of his days, he would be satisfied with fantasizing and daydreaming until Kuroo found someone to settle down with and he would accept it.

 

All the while, he will become a scientist and travel and give lectures. He’ll probably have a few love affairs with some flight attendant and fellow researchers, then take an excavation in South America and live the rest of his days with a well behaved, toilet-trained cat named Hoshi.

 

And he would leave his past fondness for Kuroo Tetsurou behind.

 

But...he would enjoy what he could get for now.

 

He would indulge in the fantasy when they would graze their knuckles accidently when they walked a little close to each other in their tuxedos (and Tsukishima's hand would tremble, wanting to reach out).

 

Indulge when he would help him get the grooms to their room when they drank too much and exchange jokes and silly banter (they would both have rosy cheeks and slur).

 

He’d savor how it would feel when Kuroo got close to him and tell him he had to relax (his breath smelling like sake and mint).

 

Soak in the small glances he would send when he danced with Bokuto against his will (pretending that Kuroo would also send some his way, going unnoticed).

 

He allowed himself to wishfully look forward to the small encounters they were bound to have. Even in his current grandiose crisis, not wanting to let his buried feelings resurface, he could admit that he would still enjoy the small moments. He would enjoy them in denial—at a distance. Like he always had.

 

His train ran some ten minutes late when he finally reached the station close to his place, the restaurant thankfully still open. As he entered, he was given a take-out menu, ordered, and took a seat on a small bench while patiently waiting for his food. His meal was said to take some time since they had a few other orders to make as well, but he wasn't in too much of a rush. He sat in silence, pulling out his phone and slipping his headphones out of his bag.

 

As the tall blond waited, he wondered if his constant daydreaming was a sign of a deadly tumor forming in his brain and if he should to talk to a neurologist; it was the most lucid explanation. Tsukishima wasn’t anything if not logical. He thought things through, like college, and his career, and his taxes… and starting physical relations with his senpai and all-time fantasy crush.

 

He was young and _obviously_ naive. Now older and much less dense, he felt the consequences of his choices. He felt his tumor grow. Each pulse in his deadly growth brought by happy, cavity-inducing sweet memories and nice things. If his impending death would be caused by his demeaning delusion of a happily ever after, then why was he so eager to relish the fantasy and wishful thinking? Why would he knowingly dive into a one-sided pipe-dream?

 

He needed to get his shit together and return to a skeptical, logical mindset. One without charming best men and future moments at a wedding that would never be his.

 

He will eat his fucking fish, never order it again, and go back to pretending that he and Akaashi never had the conversation. Denial was what he wanted—he lived for denial. He was a fucking pro at denial. It was a comfort he’s long known.

 

Things needed to be this way.

 

Things needed to be normal.

 

Things would not work otherwise.

 

Things don’t work out for him.

 

He would go home and eat, tasting the spite and bitterness on his tongue, and go back to pretending that he wasn’t wounded—go back to denial and distance. Like always.

 

He would go back to avoidance and keeping himself out of reach, fearing that if he was shown an ounce of kindness—a small gesture of hope—he wouldn't be able to hold back. He would embarrass himself and jump back into ice-water and give every ounce of himself for one night, for one moment, of old times. And he couldn’t go back. He needed them to be on good terms, even if that meant they were practically strangers to each other.

 

It’s not like they were ever good at being friends to begin with.

 

“A little while longer,” the man on the other side of the counter had told him, Tsukishima nodded. He put his headphones away, sat in silence as he looked at his shoes with his wavering resolve, hoping the universe could give him peace. And in his sulking, he heard someone walk up to the counter and was immediately addressed.

 

"Ah, hey there kiddo," the guy behind the counter said, "You ordered ahead this time, I see. Your order will be finished in a while with the other guy's. Go have a seat." Tsukishima immediately frowned at the idea of having to share the small bench.

 

Then he heard the last thing he wanted to hear, in a warm baritone and chipper timbre.

 

"Alright. Thanks, Kenta! I'll be over here if yo..." He heard footsteps stop, a pregnant silence followed.

 

Reluctantly, Tsukishima lifted his heavy head and looked up at the familiar sight of Kuroo Tetsurou—in all his fucking glory. So much for distance.

 

The universe obviously had no care for his resolve as he felt all his willpower fade.

 

Things really never worked out for him.

  


**Kuroo**

 

And like a fucking addict, Kuroo felt a compulsive itch at the sight of Tsukishima Kei.

 

There he was, sitting on a small bench with a slight slouch and a look on his face that screamed that Kuroo was the last person he wanted to see.

 

(Here he was, with soft, incandescent pale skin and his glasses sitting low on his nose, with a cute grimace and his fingers pressed together)

 

There he was, in all his glory.

 

Kuroo felt a familiar ache find it’s way to his chest, slowly tightening.

 

He realized that he was just standing there after one of the waitresses looked at him strangely. He coughed after a moment and walked towards the bench, Tsukishima scooting over to make room for him. After taking a seat, a heavy silence fell on them. Kuroo couldn’t help but notice the close proximity between them, close enough to feel the warm heat radiating off one another and the barely-there tension suffocating them. And for the first time, Kuroo realized that they hadn’t ever been alone with one another since they broke off their arrangement years ago.

 

It was odd, realizing that they’ve only ever been in the same room when their friends were present. Maybe it was unconscious or maybe Kuroo knew better. With his hazardous yearning for Tsukishima, it was a wonder how he had any restraint to begin with.

 

These past years of just ‘hiding’ his feelings for him had built a wall of denial, but he wasn’t so sure now that he was in close proximity to the object of his affection.

 

This was bad—really bad. Being alone with Tsukishima was new territory for him and he needed buffers. He needed his friends to be around to make sure he doesn’t say anything stupid and be there when the blond purposely ignored him.

 

He needed his friends to make it less apparent that they didn’t know how to be around each other. He needs something to distract from the honest truth that they were never good at being friends to begin with.  

 

He wondered if he’s the only one anxious about being alone. He glanced quickly from his peripherals to the younger boy. He looked bored, giving no indication of awkwardness that Kuroo was full of. He let his shoulders fall slightly, a sad pout gracing his lips.

 

He had been right. The entire time, Kuroo was always the one fantasizing. He shouldn’t be surprised. Tsukishima was always polite and courteous, even to people he didn’t like—even to strangers.

 

Kuroo just never liked to believe he fell into that category.

 

He didn’t want polite and courteous, he didn’t want to be a stranger. There wasn’t much to be done if all Tsukishima thought of him was a humorous fool or an overly flirtatious acquaintance. And as he looked away he noticed his old kohai’s hands, fingers slightly fidgeting against one another—like they did when he was nervous.

 

A small grin made it to Kuroo’s face as an ounce of courage found it’s way to his voice. This was it, the first step to recovery. Facing your addiction.

 

“Hi, Tsukishima.”

 

He saw the younger blond blink at his greeting as if not expecting it. Kuroo wondered when they became so good at pretending ‘they’ never happened.

 

Of course, being guarded and cold, Tsukishima was always better at forgetting the past when he wanted. He straightened up, pulling back his shoulders and turned his head to halfway face Kuroo.

 

“Kuroo-san.” Ah, the sentiment was almost too much.

 

He shouldn't be surprised. His nervousness must be due to Kuroo creeping him out. Maybe all this time, Kuroo was right. It was a bitter pill to choke down, but he always figured it was the case. Maybe the intimacy between them, when they were younger, was all in Kuroo's head. Maybe their closeness when they were younger, for Tsukishima, was due to curiosity and amusement, and a routine fuck.

 

Nothing more.

 

And for Kuroo, it was the same, until it wasn't. Until it became about watching the younger boy go to sleep in his arms and cutting off his circulation. Until he searched all of Tokyo for a giant green dinosaur costume to surprise him for Halloween. Until he had a jar of strawberry chews that he refilled every week on his nightstand when the blond slept over.

 

Until it became about pulling back all his layers and insecurities to let his vulnerabilities leak out and grab onto one Tsukishima Kei, who was always at a lightyear's distance from him but was now just a hairsbreadth away.

 

“So, how's the mackerel here?” Even at their close proximity, he was not expecting Tsukishima to be the one to break their uncomfortable silence. Kuroo tried his best to keep his grin seem genuine.

 

“It’s good. It’s juicy and well seasoned,” He looked to him, “Don’t remember you being a big fan…” Tsukishima tsked at his comment, rolling his eyes as he sat against the back of the bench.

 

“I got a weird craving,” he pouted slightly, “Didn’t know you came here.”

 

"Yeah, this place is one of my go-to's." He tried to stay charismatic, regardless of the small talk, thinking that he needed to eventually figure out how to act normal around the taller man. He would have to figure it out soon since they would both most likely be groomsmen.

 

Kuroo needed to find common ground if he was going to learn to let go. Even so, he couldn't help but see how far he could push. There was no harm in testing the waters.

 

"You know, you could've texted me for a good place if you had a craving." He tried not to sound smug, but Tsukishima's face gave away his obvious annoyance. "I'm willing to share my secret spots..if you ask nicely." Surprisingly, though, Tsukishima's face twisted back to a grin.

 

“You would know the best places. Can’t say I’m surprised, seeing as your part feline.” He turned back forward somehow looking more relaxed, “Besides, why would I text you? You’d just send me down to the sketchiest dive-in for below-par tuna.”

 

“That was one time,” Kuroo defended, feeling some of the tightness in his chest dissipate. He was easing back to his usual confident self, and watching Tsukishima act like nothing was different was bittersweet. “And the tuna was just a little grey. But it was still good.”

 

“Gross,” the younger man shook his head at the memory, trying his best not to smile, “It was still not as embarrassing as you trying to fish for yourself, though.”

 

“Oh! I remember that! Man,” his eyes lit up at the memory, “I forgot all about that trip. Hehe, I wasn’t very good, was I?”

 

“You were terrible,” the blond chuckled, snorting at the thought, “You broke skin when you were trying to hook bait and then fell off the boat.”

 

“Ah, you're right,” he laughed and grabbed onto Tsukishima’s shoulder and shook him slightly, “and then I freaked out and grabbed you like this!”

 

"All because your shoe got caught in a kid's fish net."

 

“I thought it was a shark!”

 

“In a freshwater lake?” he challenged.

 

“Well, I was panicky. I wasn’t thinking logically at the time,” he let go of him, surprised and relieved that he wasn’t pushed away.

 

“Besides,” Kuroo wondered how much further he could push, how much thin ice he could be on before he felt Tsukishima pull away again, “I was so distracted by you in your cute little life-vest and reading your beginner’s fishing manual.”

 

He saw the younger man’s face freeze until he dropped his smile and went back to looking at his hands.

 

And even though Kuroo destroyed the fragile good mood, he now knew that the awkwardness wasn't one sided.

 

He now knew where he stood and where the line was between them. He hadn't thought about that trip in years, remembering how he and Tsukishima planned the weekend getaway and spent it with amateur fishing, hiking, and mosquitos. And each other.

 

Oh, well. The rapport was nice while it lasted.

 

“What was distracting was the awful sunburn you got.” He heard the blond say, looking back at Kuroo as he shook his head, “You never listened to me. If you did, you would have put on sunscreen like I told you to.”

 

Kuroo felt goosebumps on his arms. The ice was thin, but still unbroken.

 

“Yeah, I remember you telling me a dozen or so times.”

 

"More like 50 times. Watching you peel was not hot," he smirked at the older man.

 

“Ohohoho? Hot, am I?”

 

“ _Were._ And definitely not when you were flailing around in water that was only 150 cm deep.” He teased. The ravenhead’s eye twitched, wanting to defend himself that he was unaware of that at the time. He was quick to recover, though.

 

“‘Were’?” he cooed.

 

Maybe they weren’t lost causes. Maybe they could be okay. Maybe through trial and error, in spite of Kuroo’s feelings, they could find some normalcy.

 

"Yes, you ass..."  

 

Then, the fair-haired boy gave him a shit-eating grin and it felt like Kuroo was 17 again.

 

“You're treacherous manipulating and terrible bedhead isn't cute at your age."

 

“I almost believe you,” Kuroo smiled.

 

Whatever they were was over, but Kuroo could make it work, as long as he still had _this._ As long as he could still be around someone who reminded him how it felt in the moments he was young and spirited. He only spent those moments with the boy he used to call ‘Tsukki’.

 

“You know,”—he didn’t want them to stop talking, he wanted to make up for four years of trepidation and coasting around each other—“You’re lucky that snarky mouth of yours and your good manners are still cute or you’d be in trouble, Tsukishima.”

 

“Still cute?” he countered, a cheeky grin on his face as he challenged Kuroo who grinned back, only more genuinely.

 

"Yeah," he looked up and caught golden honey hues, "Still."

 

He watched as the playfulness left the blond’s face and a gentle expression found it's way instead. Kuroo found the line, and found a way back into Tsukishima's eyes, if only until they got their food.

 

They sat there and talked about their lives. They talked careers from Kuroo’s bigshot lawyer job in one of Tokyo’s most respected law firms _Sasaki & Partners _ to Tsukishima working on his Ph.D. while working at the esteemed _National Museum of Nature and Science_. They talked new hobbies like Kuroo's knitting (which got the blond to laugh) and Tsukishima's guitar playing (Kuroo internally melted). They even talked about Bokuto's and Akaashi's wedding and how Tsukishima had accepted to be a groomsman, much to Kuroo's pleasure.

 

And in the twenty minutes that they sat on the uncomfortable, too small bench, Kuroo hated himself for staying away for so long. Hated himself for forgetting how mind numbing it felt to be in the presence of the younger man. He missed it.

 

"Congrats on being best man, by the way," Tsukishima mentioned, relaxing as he eased back on the wall, "I'm not going to lie, though. I'm a little worried you and Bokuto-san might get arrested."

 

“Oh, it’s going to happen,” Kuroo slightly bumped his shoulder, sending small static currents down his arm, “Don’t you worry about that.”

 

“I don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find some way to lawyer yourself out of jail.”

 

“You really believe in me? Awe~” Kuroo wished his order never came.

 

“More like you’ll make someone cry and Bokuto-san would offer his autograph.” He mocked, not even a little rusty when it came to making fun of Kuroo. But it was alright, he missed this.

 

He missed all of it.

 

"You know me too well, _Tsukki_."

 

And before he could stop himself, he slipped.

 

He looked back to see the younger man physically flinch...and Kuroo knew he had crossed the line. The ice was beyond broken. It had melted, and Kuroo was drowning.

 

"...shima…" he tried to correct himself, but the damage was done. And then a stinging bell was rung and broke the silence. They looked up to the counter and saw the cashier holding two take-out bags.

 

“Orders up, you two.” They stayed still for a moment before Tsukishima slowly got up and walked towards the cashier to pay. Kuroo stayed still for a moment longer until he too went up to pay. He collected his change and turned to see Tsukishima waiting for him by the entrance.

 

Because he’s polite, even with people he didn’t like. He’s polite to strangers. Because that’s what they were to each other now.

 

 He walked as he thanked the workers and made his way to the blond who held the door open. When they got outside in the chilly winter air, they stood next to each other, each facing the opposite direction to their respective homes.

 

“Well, Tsukishima,” he looked back to see the blond still facing away, “I’m this way. I’ll see you aro-”

 

“ _Tsukki.”_

 

Kuroo turned to look at the man who slowly turned to face him, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. Then he looked him in the eyes—golden and bright and filled with memories—with an expression Kuroo couldn’t quite place.

 

“Tsukki.”

 

“Tsukki?” Kuroo repeated, not understanding what to make of his words. He needed clarity. For once.

 

“Yeah, Tsukki,” he stood firm never breaking contact as his blush turned a shade darker. The blond coughed, trying to defuse the tense air around them, “Besides, you calling me anything else is kinda weird, so… Tsukki is fine or whatever...”

 

Kuroo smiled, as small as the victory was.

 

"Alright then," tonight was a win for him, tonight they could finally move forward, "Well, we should definitely hang out again. Ya' know, just the two of us." Tonight Kuroo finally felt safe to be around the boy who he had the hots for since he was in high school. He was certain he could finally handle being around the boy who ruined every other guy for him, and that just maybe, being around him more will ease him into a comfortable acceptance of being just friends, and nothing more.

 

"What do ya' say...Tsukki?"

 

"Sure," he replied, and then when Kuroo was about to walk away he saw Tsukki bring his hand to scratch the back of his neck, his blush still apparent. Another quirk he did when he was nervous. Kuroo knew his quirks well. "But, I was wondering if you were busy now?" Kuroo tilted his head.

 

"Well, I'm gonna to catch the train and go home. Why?"

 

“Don’t you live kinda far from here?”

 

Kuroo wasn’t sure what to make of where he _assumed_ the conversation was going. He continued, figuring that Tsukki had a point to make.

 

“Yeah, but this place is good and it’s open late. Why, what's up?”

 

“Well, it’s just,” the fact that Tsukki was looking anywhere other than Kuroo was starting to raise alarms in his mind. “Your food will get cold.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s still good when I reheat it, so no worries.”

 

“Um, well,” Tsukki then placed one hand next to the other looking up to Kuroo’s face finally, “My place is only three blocks away.”

 

All the blood rushed to Kuroo’s face as he tried to determine if he was actually dreaming.

 

“...And you could eat there...if you want.”

 

So, in the fragility of their newly found friendship, Tsukishima Kei, _in all his glory,_ invited Kuroo Tetsurou to his place.

 

Kuroo was strong willed and sometimes proud, but when it came to the blond boy who stood before him—who ruined him—he was nothing more than a weak man.

 

And that’s how he found himself walking down a small street on a cold Thursday night to Tsukishima Kei’s apartment.

  
  


It was a small but homey looking flat. Kuroo had been surprised by the amount of furniture the blond had for such a small place. What was most surprising was how warm and inviting it felt. The sofas were small but they had a rustic brown cushioning and brick orange pillows. He had throw blankets and a rug in each room. He even had a welcome mat, much to Kuroo’s teasing. The blond even had plants, small shrubs and spots of green accenting the small corners of the apartment but not too much to overwhelm. Kuroo couldn't help but notice that he also had a flower box on his window sill, pastel tulips framing the glass. Tsukki loved flowers outside windows.  

 

Instead of eating on the small dining table for two, they sat on the ground and ate on the coffee table. Tsukki gave him his own chopsticks instead of the simple take-out ones which he took gratefully. The younger man grabbed them drinks and they ate, comfortable in the each other's company.

 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Kuroo asked between mouthfuls of rice.

 

“Sure. You want something else to drink? I think I have some bee-”

 

“No, I’m good thanks. I,” he swallowed and immediately got nervous. He bit his lip, wondering if it was wishful thinking, “I was wondering...”

 

“Yeah?” Tsukki teased between sips of water.

 

“Well, do you—and it’s okay if you don’t, because if you did I’d be surprised and all but—”

 

"What is it Kuroo-san?" he asked sharply, giving off a hint of curiosity to the ravenhead’s question. Kuroo smiled wide, teeth still biting his bottom lip. He tried to ignore his butterflies when he noticed Tsukki's eyes watching his mouth.

 

“You wouldn’t still have the ‘DinoCat’ playlist...would you?”

 

Kuroo had been 19 and Tsukki 17. At the time, the younger boy and he were traveling from Tokyo and Miyagi constantly, finding time for their confusing but exciting friendship. One day, he and Tsukki were both on the train back to Tokyo when Kuroo had asked to listen to the music he always saw Tsukki listening to on his headphones. With little reluctance and a cute blush, he shared some earphones with Kuroo as the rode the train back to his place. The next day, Kuroo had made a playlist on Tsukki's phone of the songs that he liked. So that way, when he would come to see Kuroo, he would listen to them and think of him. It was fun in the moment, neither imagining that it would be something they would end up doing at the beginning of every month for the duration of their relationship. It was one small detail of many, one small thing that was theirs.

 

To his surprise, a small laugh escaped the blond's mouth. He shook his head and slowly got up and made his way to his room. After a minute, he came back out with his phone in hand. He turned on his stereo to a low setting and sat back down next to Kuroo. He then faced the screen to the brunet and showed him that he did, in fact, still have it. In bold letters, he saw the ‘DinoCat' playlist with a star next to it and a date showing that it had last been updated two days ago.

 

"It has Bluetooth so you can play it without a cord." Tsukki handed him the phone, blush still present.

 

“Daaaamn! I didn’t think you still had this! Does it still have the old stuff?” Tsukki nodded. Kuroo felt giddy as he went through the huge list of songs. Then he caught sight of an alternative 80s English song he remembered from years ago. When he heard the first few notes (of bagpipes, no less), he looked up to see Tsukki chew the inside of his cheek.

 

“You have to show me all the new songs soon, Tsukki.”

 

“It’s a lot of songs, though.”

 

“I know.”

 

And in a moment between the familiar tempo and the still hot food, it felt like nothing had changed—like they had gone back in time. Tsukki looked down to his food, a shy smile breaking on his face. Kuroo tried his best—and failed—to not hold on to hope that it was because of him, of the idea of there being a next time. And with the soft music playing around them, it all felt like they were back in volleyball and at training camp, back in their dorm rooms, back to listening to music on the train and holding hands. It felt exactly the same.

 

“So,” Kuroo was finally where he wanted to be. He didn’t want to ever go home, “Tell me more about your horny co-workers who always insist on doing _‘inventory’_ together.”

 

And as they talked more about themselves, Kuroo couldn't stop the warm feeling from bubbling up and was reminded of past lives.

 

Of a cocky captain and an apprehensive freshman who he couldn't stop thinking about.

 

It felt like old times. It was all the same—their conversation light and full of witty commentary and jokes, the dinosaur figurines displayed in plain site as Kuroo asked for fun facts of each different one, their hands mere centimeters away slowly inching toward the other, Tsukki's flushed face. Everything felt exactly the same—

 

And Kuroo realized what he was doing there.

 

He realized _exactly_ why he was invited over.

 

Why after years of silence and avoidance he was finally close enough to kiss the boy. As Tsukki kept talking, Kuroo wondered how many other guys Tsukki invited over for a casual meal. Kuroo wondered how many guys Tsukki had shown his smart-alecky smirk to, how many guys got to see him bare and raw.

 

Kuroo had been avoiding the man for years, but he was still aware that he had dated from time to time. As if Kuroo had been a bad influence, he knew that Tsukki had never been one for serious relationships either. He would sometimes hear of a guy who Tsukki would see frequently or one that would date the blond for a few weeks.

 

None of them lasted, just like none lasted for Kuroo. But he doubted they had the same reasons. He honestly doubted that Tsukki would ever think so much about him.

 

He wondered how many times he wished he could back to nights like this one, one full of flirty glances and warm feelings building.

 

It was always the same.

 

In a moment of lapse judgment and momentary weakness, he had returned to being 21 and disposable.

 

What's worse was that he was the idiot who thought there was more to what was right in front of him.

 

Even as good as it felt to be back to where they were, he couldn't do it again.

 

Everyone who knew him knew that Kuroo was only for casual and no-strings relations, but this was different. Always was, even when he was too blind or stubborn to see it. He couldn't go back to falling in a pit of self-delusions and denial. He couldn't go back to crying in the dark thousands of miles away from home because of a boy. He couldn't go back to pretending. Not even for Tsukki.

 

And he would fall right back into the rabbit-hole if he stayed in the indulgence a moment longer, no matter how much he didn't ever want to go home. No matter how much he wanted to stay and listen to 80s alternative and find his way back into Tsukki's life. He had to leave.

 

“So it’s kinda exciting,” the blond bit his lip, unaware that Kuroo was no longer listening. He didn’t want to interrupt Tsukki when he was talking, but Kuroo was going to suffocate if he stayed any longer. “ And...Well, because I sent a sample of my dissertation, I actually got invited to a fellowship at the end of the year to Chicago University and I’m not sure if I shoul-”

 

“Hey, um, Tsukki,” Kuroo tried to find his voice as he looked around, not wanting to look at the other man’s face, feeling his willpower slip off of him like water, “I actually just—I didn’t realize the time. And, I... I should be heading home.” He hated how weak he sounded, stammering over his words.

 

“Oh, um okay,” Tsukki looked at the clock hanging high on the wall, “but it’s kind of late.”

 

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay, I’ll just catch the late train.” He felt his palms twitch, the back of his neck starting to sweat.

 

“Don’t you live far?”

 

“I’ve done this trip before. Really, it’s fine.” The room was too hot, he needed to leave.

 

“But you could get mugged this late.”

 

“Don’t worry, Tsukki,” he chided, “If I see someone suspicious, I’ll stand all tough so they don’t mess with me.” He allowed himself to smirk for effect, “And if there’s more than one, I’ll call a cab,” he wavered and looked at the blond who had a neutral face on, “I promise.”

 

And as he moved to rise to his feet, he felt a lone, slender hand touch his. He froze at the contact, eyes glued to the tentative hand slowly inch forward to completely cover his right hand. And with a light squeeze, Kuroo didn't know if he would make it to the door alive. He slowly looked up to the owner's face, surprised to see him staring straight at him, his tongue licking his lips nervously. Another quirk Kuroo has cataloged over the years.

 

“What if...I don’t want you to leave?”

 

If it were anyone else, Kuroo would brush it off as a joke. If it were Bokuto, they would pretend kiss to the point of ridiculousness. If it were Kenma, Kuroo would be making tea and pestering him to tell him what was wrong. But it wasn’t just anybody else, it was Tsukishima Kei, in all his glory, asking Kuroo to stay. And he didn’t know what to do. He was frozen in place.

 

Frozen, as he saw Tsukki glance back down to his lips, eyes half-lidded from embarrassment and lust (uncertain and bold). He stayed still as Tsukki moved forward, closing the small space between them. And he couldn't help but hold his breath when he smelled his shampoo (smelled of both suds and honey), their lips inches away.

 

His head hurt, and his eyelids felt heavy. He tilted his head to the side, to ease the pain and closed his eyes, unable to resist the weight. And he felt soft, warm, familiar lips press against his, tentative and unsure. He couldn't move.

 

He had dreamt of this moment countless of times. He had dreamt of holding each other’s hand and New Years with each other's families, of dates and cuddling, of finally having Tsukki in every way.

 

But if he kissed back, he would only have a part of him—one that he knew too well. And it would all end the same, with him as nothing but a warm body and all the heartache. It would all end in tears. So he pushed him back.

 

Tsukki’s face was bright red, his eyes fluttered open when he felt Kuroo push him backward, furrowing his brows together in confusion. He looked at Kuroo, his expression full of embarrassing regret, and Kuroo wished he kissed him back.

 

"I'm sorry," Tsukki backed away and looked outside, "I'll call you a cab." But before he could get up, Kuroo held onto his elbow, keeping him in place.

 

He held on because in spite of the ache and in spite of the turmoil he'll feel tomorrow, he could never stand to see Tsukki look so sad.  

 

As he turned to look at the older man, he saw Tsukki, for all that he was in that moment. He saw the man who never liked to feel rejected. He saw the 15-year-old boy who was too scared to invest in something because he was scared of not being able to move on. And he hoped that when he looked at the expression on Tsukki's face he saw four years of regret and old times too.

 

So, when Tsukki finally looked face to face at Kuroo, he held a blank neutral expression. Kuroo's heart sank.

 

But he was a weak man, and he needed a taste. Like an addict, he needed a fix. Four clean years down the drain by one puzzling, enigmatic kiss.

 

So Kuroo's hold on his arm tightened ever so gently, pulling the blond towards him, Kuroo closing the small space between them. As their lips were mere inches apart, he could see the younger man’s skeptic look roam across Kuroo’s face, wondering if he was being toyed with. Kuroo feared the same.

 

But he was weak, and lonely, and pathetic. His hazardous yearning taking over, needing a fix. He missed this.

 

As destructive and cruel as it was, he missed all of it. He missed him.

 

He pressed their lips together, trepidation and overwhelming uncertainty fresh against the friction. After a moment of stillness, they slowly open their mouths and their tongues tasted one another. They moved slow and desperate, Kuroo closing his eyes as Tsukki tentatively lifted his arms to gently wrap around his neck. Kuroo swallowed a groan when he felt Tsukki press his chest flush up against Kuroo’s.

 

The older man, however, had cataloged years worth of all that was Tsukki. He knew what quirks he did when he was nervous, when he was upset. He knew how warm Tsukki liked his showers and hot he liked his tea. Kuroo knew how to make Tsukki his, even for one night.

 

He pushed the blond down on the rug, pressing his body down onto the slim, hazed-eyed man as he gently rocked his hips expertly. He earned some lip biting and a slight pull on the back of his hair, giving the blond access to kiss his collarbone quickly before returning to his mouth, tongues dancing.

 

Tsukki still had his glasses, but they sat low on his nose as he only kept looking at Kuroo with half lidded eyes. The ravenhead moved his hands against the younger man’s rib cage, slowly reaching for the hem of his shirt. He felt Tsukki’s abdominal muscles contract at the warm contact once Kuroo found his way underneath the fabric, fingers pressed slight pressure as he traveled up and down—every curve and crevice hot and soothing, each inch of skin familiar, each flex he felt beneath his palms reacting like muscle memory.

 

Without much grace or patience, Tsukki separated and quickly yank his shirt off completely, Kuroo following his lead as he threw the clothing across the room, returning to swollen lips and massaging Tsukki’s bare torso.

 

Kuroo snaked his hand down between them, sliding his hand underneath Tsukki's waistband. When his hand pressed roughly against the blond’s already half-hard length, he saw those half-lidded eyes roll back at the sudden contact, making his body arch beautifully. Kuroo shimmied down Tsukki’s pants for better access, thrilled when he saw the front of his underwear transparent and soaked through. Tsukki’s breath hitched against his mouth as he slid the underwear down slowly, the front of his sweaty palm pressing down as he glided down his length.

 

He went slow, just like he remembered Tsukki liked it. He held on to him as Tsukki gripped his shoulder, short nails lightly scraping his skin, leaving faint red marks in his wake—leaving his imprint that would last only for a while. He watched the boy slacken his jaw, not bothering to hold back his voice as Kuroo started to stroke with his fist tense against him.

 

He missed this.

 

"AH~Kuroo-san..."

 

God, he missed all of this.

 

"I got you Tsukki. I got you..." Kuroo felt Tsukki's hands glide down his abdomen until they started undoing his belt. He pushed down against his hips—like the disposable garbage he was. He lowered his head to the side of Tsukki's face, biting the skin behind his ear as he whispered heavily trying to take in all he could, "..Tsukki.."

 

He sucked on the flesh, earning heavy pants. He continued to jerk his hand, pushing the boy just enough on the edge without tipping over. He was going to take his time watching him unravel. He’s waited long enough to see it again.

 

"Kuro—ah…" He tightened his hand as he felt his belt come apart, fingers working his zipper. He felt himself coming undone by the man underneath him, cold hands gently stroking his member, tentative and sluggish. He was having trouble finding his voice, harsh huffs escaping his mouth as he bit down ruthlessly leaving his mark on the pale, glowing skin.

 

He was completely giving in. Scared beyond belief of the second chance he was getting. Knowing it would be short lived, yet savoring all that he was given.

 

" _Fuck_ , Tsukki…"

 

Scared of how easily they fell right back to each other. How Kuroo remembered exactly how the blond preferred his pacing—slow and burning. How Tsukki remembered just how rough the older man liked his kisses—punishing and passionate. The latter’s moans starting to come out more shallow and his grip on the older man’s shoulder kept twitching, notifying Kuroo that he was close. Tsukki’s other hand glided against Kuroo’s tip, spreading the rich wetness across his palm, fondling his way to his base. He started pumping slow, making Kuroo’s own grip on the younger man to become more erratic.

 

He watched as Tsukki kept choking at the gasps and groans escaping his voice, whines exciting him as Kuroo peppered smaller bruises along the pale neck between his own moans. He watched as Tsukki tried to fight his undoing. Kuroo hoped it was the same as him. He hoped they both didn’t want this to end. After so long, he needed to bask in all of the present fantasies and forget about what would happen after tonight.

 

After he was thrown away.

 

“Ke—Kei...”

 

But that was later. That was tomorrow. Right now, he had four years of to make up for. He only had tonight to relive as much as he could.

 

"Tetsu..."

 

And in the warm comfort of the man he's always wanted, he felt 17 again. He felt scared and stupid and whole. He fell back into old times and bad habits. Back to heartache and strawberry kisses. Back to comfortable delusion and looming rejection. He fell back to the black hole that was Tsukishima Kei.

 

“Kei.”

 

They were never good at being friends to begin with.

 

“Tetsurou.”  
  
  


 

* * *

 

 

  
**Next Chapter: Concurrence**

Hinata, Kuroo, Kenma, Oikawa, Yamaguchi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooo, that happened. Seriously, though, I’m not experienced in writing smut, at all. I am very much a noob. And my noob self would really appreciate the constructive criticism. But other than that, I was in such a groove while writing this chapter. We finally get to see our lord and savior Iwaizumi and the blueberry king Kageyama. They will be regulars so please tell me what you thought of them. As for Tsukki and Kuroo… well they are not done. Not by a long shot (seeing as this story is first and foremost a KurooTsukki fic). But they will share the limelight with others. I make ZERO promises for everyone having a happy ending, but what I can guarantee is that everyone will get the ending that they deserve. But that’s a long while away. Until then, I hope all you readers stick around and continue to support my novice writing and enthusiastic continuation of this story. Thank you. Chapter 5 coming soon!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Shout outs to the amazing people who have commented and reviewed thus far:
> 
> KisunaFuji, studiotrigger (GunsForTheMafia), ManifestHoe, Yamiyoru, bubblesandwich,  and  “some dude”
> 
>  
> 
> Also thank you to all the people who have left Kudos, Subscribed, Bookmarked, Followed, and Faved. You’re all rad!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank Perlaparrot, everyone. ( New slave-editor/beta reader still needed)
> 
> (She’s so done with my shit, guys.)
> 
>  
> 
> ~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Kudos~
> 
> ~The Hive in June~


	5. Concurrence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord, this chapter was a crazy roller coaster of constant editing and side narration. We finally see the smol sun child, Hinata and the purest thing in this world, Yamaguchi. And trust me, there are tons of moments that are both sweet and cringe worthy. So my slave editor is still here (Perls!! :)) giving her two cents about the fic, but there are two other people I really want to acknowledge:  
> I really want to thank studiotrigger (GunsForTheMafia) for being so kind and sending me some much-needed links that'll definitely come in handy and for promoting this story. It's so lovely and crazy appreciated!
> 
> Also, my new beta: bubblesandwich!!! Guys, she's beyond AMAZING! If you read and notice the character actually seem like themselves and not just entities of angst and sadness, thank bubblesandwich. Thanks to her, this chapter is actually funny. She deserves a huge round of applause for dealing with all my awful errors and talking silly side commentary with me. We talk about character insight and anthropomorphic plants and bowls. It's been epic.  
> Anyways, please enjoy chapter 5. 
> 
> ~The Hive in June~
> 
>  

 

 

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_Chapter 1: Certainty_

_Chapter 2: Caution_

_Chapter 3: Concessions_

_Chapter 4: Comforts_

**Chapter 5: Concurrence**

 

_Of mutual misunderstandings_

_Of mutual selfishness_

* * *

 

**_January 22_ **

 

**Hinata**

 

He juggled around his pocket, grasping for keys as he stood outside his apartment door. His hand sifted through the small but endless abyss of old receipts, colorful buttons, expired coupons, and a half-eaten protein bar. He paused as his fingers curled around the bar, his stomach rumbling. He furiously shook his head and resumed rummaging through his pocket, now engaging in an internal struggle between his mind and stomach. _No,_ he sluggishly thought, _I'm pretty sure I got this two weeks ago, and it's all covered in buttons. Those are buttons, right? No, c’mon, you have food that won't give you the runs in your apartment that’s right in front of you. Control yourself, Shouyou, control. C’mon, you can do this! There are waffles, waiting, 50 meters in front of you. Stay strong. Stay strong!! I can do this! Yeah!! Yeah!!! YEA_ _—_ After much struggle (and incredibly creative pep-talking), he finally found his keys, fishing the jingling metal out with one hand as his other hand was busy gripping a fully packed shoulder bag that smelled of dirty laundry and smoke.

 

He opened the door to his dark flat and flipped the lightswitch to his right on as he entered. It had been nine days since Hinata had been home, and all he wanted to do was relax, eat two dozen meat buns (or waffles, he can deal with waffles), and throw himself onto his rather stiff bed and maybe sleep into next year (343 days _—wait, is it a leap year?—_ of bliss) _._

 

It had been an especially grueling week at work due to the heavy storm that hit the coast a few days ago. He loved his job, he did. He was able to pilot rescue aircraft and help people—had been for a little over two years. He loved the sensation of flying, but it took a toll on him. He couldn't always save everyone. Sometimes there would be failed missions he couldn’t get over, all of them leaving a sharp ache in his chest. He looked at the digital clock sitting on a small stand against the hallway wall—he had gotten home much later than he wanted.

 

_2:47 a.m._

 

He dropped his bag on the hallway floor, figuring that he’d deal with it after a proper bath and meal. He walked into the kitchen and took the two super glorious, much anticipated, _brand name_ frozen waffles from his freezer and popped them into the two-capacity toaster. He gracefully smashed them into his mouth the moment they popped up, then quickly loaded another two.

 

After about six waffles, the redhead loaded up another batch and headed to the bathroom to wash up. As he made his way down, he quickly started to strip himself of his jacket and shirt, eager to get in the bath. Halfway through pulling off his shirt, however, he flinched violently from a shooting pain at his side. He tossed the top to the ground and slowly and gently touched his sore, bruised ribs, hissing at the slightest pressure. The redhead remembered how he had a rough ride a few miles out above sea and a very hard landing after. Hinata loved his job, but it took a lot out of him. He didn’t love the heavy shoulders and stress, but he loved to help people. He loved to fly.

 

The redhead entered the bathroom and started the water in the tub. He took the rest of his layers off and sunk into the warm water with a loud, deafening sigh, muscles loosening and knots coming undone. He sat in the tub, motionless for a few minutes, watching the steady stream of steam radiating out of the bath. He dipped his head in, eyes still open as he watched a line of bubbles make their way to the surface of the water. He had missed his tub, missed home. Missed seeing his friends and those close to him. He wondered what they were up to...one in particular.

 

He stayed a while longer until the water turned lukewarm and his fingers began to prune. Once fully dressed, he wrapped a towel around his shoulders, doing his best to dry his fiery untamed locks. As he made his way back to the kitchen, he noticed that his answering machine had three unheard messages. Stuffing a sad, cold, forgotten waffle into his mouth, he took the machine to the balcony, prying the door open with his foot. He took his usual seat on one of the small, cushioned chairs and snugly wrapped himself up in a blanket. He placed the machine on his side, carefully bending down to reach underneath. His hand grabbed the pack of smokes hidden under his chair, where he had always left them. A rare habit he gained after starting in the TFD, one he only indulged in when he was feeling particularly down. He lit one in his mouth as he pressed play on the answering machine.

 

 **_BEEP_ ** **—FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

 _"Hey, HEY, HEY, Hinata!!! It's Bokuto!!! You weren't answering your cell, so I guess you're still not home. Anyways, not sure if you heard, but I'm engaged!!!!! HAHAHA, Awesome, right?! Anyway, I want you in the wedding party! Akaashi and I are talking logistics for groomsmen, but if not, you're still going to be something! Hell, you could be the fucking flower girl!!!! HAHAHAHAH_ _—_ _Ke_ _-_ _Keiji, can you—your stare is really starting to scare me—oh, oh no, di...did you? Did you want to be the flower gir_ _—_ _OGH, don’t walk away! Keiji!! C’mon! Communication is key!! KEY!! KEYJI!!_

 _…But yeah!! Ring me up soon. You know, to congratulate me! Alright, bye-bye! I'll tell you the whole story when you call back! It's been a huge hit. A fucking tear jerker! I actually cry every time. Oh my god, my son_ — _we’ll cry together, it’ll be fun!! Okay, really gotta go now_ — _later, kiddo!_

 _Keiji, you can’t be the flower girl, you’re the groo_ _—_ _"_

 

 **_BEEP_ ** **—END OF MESSAGE. TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE, PRESS 1. TO SAVE** **—**

 **_BEEP_ ** **—**

 

Hinata deleted the message, a wide grin spreading across his face. It really was only a matter of time that the two of them tied the knot, figuring that it was only Akaashi who would ever be able to handle Bokuto. He was super psyched for them, already feeling a bubbling excitement for their wedding party. It had been a while since he went to a wedding. The last time he went, he made an ass out of himself by getting the runs and sprinting down the aisle during Suga’s and Daichi’s vows. In a wedding during middle school, however, he had a _blast._ Natsu cried throughout the entire ceremony, but it wasn’t normal toddler screeching—it was cute, gentle sniffles, as if she was crying for the newly wed couple. He remembered having a lot of fun, since he wasn’t forced to sit still in the church pews. He was actually _participating_ in the ceremony, walking down the aisle, trailing behind his _seriously pretty_ cousin. His parents had him carrying a basket of flowers and petals, and he wore some weird puffy robes and a scratchy, fluffy crown— _what on earth was he doing there?_

 

**MESSAGE DELETED. NEXT MESSAGE—**

 

_“Shouyou, it’s me.”_

 

His thoughts were cut short. He knew this voice. He closed his eyes, leisurely listening to its gentle resonance.

 

_"I know you said not to, but I'm going to your place this Thursday night, after my boss' party. It'll end late, so you don't have to wait up. And I know you get busy but I hope you find the time to charge your phone at the station and text me back. Also, do you want me to bring food? Text me when you get home. Also, I have news to tell you. I'll see you. I love you, Shouyou."_

 

 **_BEEP_ ** **—END OF MESSAGE. TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE, PRESS 1. TO SAVE PRESS 2. TO** **—**

 **_BEEP_ ** **—**

 

Deleting the message, he wondered if the news his boyfriend wanted to tell was the same as Bokuto’s. He’d have to wait until he saw him later. Hinata checked his watch, wondering if Kenma decided not to come in the end since it was so late. Some people would be waking up to go to work soon.

 

**MESSAGE DELETED. NEXT MESSAGE—**

 

 _"Hey, dumbass, it's me. Kageyama. If you didn't get_ _—_ _okay. Um, well, Bokuto-san…"_

 

Hinata didn’t even know when he had closed his eyes again. He didn’t register what Kageyama was even saying, mind lost upon hearing his best friend's voice. His ears pinked from embarrassment, feeling foolish for losing himself in his reverie of perfect sets and scary (but endearing) smiles. This week must have really done a number on him if he was already giving into his daydreams because of a simple voicemail. He pulled the machine into his cocoon of blankets, holding it close to his chest. He repeated the message again, getting caught in all the low hums of Kageyama's stern but melodic voice as he blew smoke.

 

 _“Hey, dumbass, it’s me. Kageyama. If you didn’t get_ _—_ _okay. Um, well, Bokuto-san got engaged and you and I are in the wedding party. So he told me to tell you. But then, Oikawa-san_ …”

 

He absentmindedly blamed the nicotine for making him feel light and weak-kneed. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise when he caught the ravenhead’s tone turn sour and edgy, then soft and a little hesitant.

 

When the message ended, he realised that he had missed the entire thing again.

 

 **_BEEP_ ** **—END OF MESSAGE. TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE, PRESS 1. TO SAVE, PRESS 2. TO REPEAT MESSAGE, PRESS 3. TO** **—**

 **_BEEP_ ** **—REPEAT MESSAGE.**

 

He took a shallow inhale of his smoke as he dropped his head back, focusing on his best friend's voice. He tapped his fingers against the plastic of the machine and chewed on his lower lip, exhaling slowly through his nose, smoke kissing his bottom half of his face. One day, he mused, he’ll learn to blow those _cool smoke ring things._

 

_"....So he told me to tell you. But then, Oikawa-san started making fun of me because I wasn't asked to be a groomsman like him. Tch. And you weren’t either since Bokuto-san didn’t say anything about that. Besides, why would they ask you but not me?"_

 

Hinata stretched slowly, his arms lifting above his head as he reached high. He moved his head in circles, hearing small pops hum throughout his neck. Settling back into his chair, he took another drag as his eyelids shuttered closed. He smiled as he imagined the scowling setter sitting next to him, pouting about how he didn’t get chosen. Their hands would be barely touching, knuckles grazing against each other as they banter and pretend not to notice.

 

_“I’m pretty sure we’ll be the people who are going to do those speeches and uh, give them away. Or something. I don’t know how weddings work. So, yeah. But anyways, let me know when you're around. We should hang out soon. Ok. Bye.”_

 

It took two more attempts for Hinata to actually get through the message without getting lost in his best friend’s voice. He was about to end it there, but hesitated.

 

He had a grueling work week, coming home depleted and broken. He could use a treat. He could indulge a little while longer.

 

He replayed the message two more times.

 

 **_BEEP_ ** **—END OF MESSAGE. TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE, PRESS 1. TO SAVE, PRESS 2. TO REPEAT MESSAGE, PR** **—**

 

 **_BEEP_ ** **—MESSAGE SAVED. INBOX FULL.**

 

Hinata opened the machine and pulled out the tape. He shuffled the cassette between his hands for a moment, the low light of his lit cigarette giving off a soft orange glow around his lips. He stared at it, wondering how the tape had already filled up after only a month. Sighing, he pulled out his smoke and pressed it into the nostril of the yellow pig-shaped ashtray he kept outside. He walked back into the warm apartment, looking for a marker. As he wrote the date on the tape with the sparkling new sharpie he had miraculously found, he walked towards his bedroom closet and pulled out a box. Inside were stacks of old cassette tapes, piled high and all full.

 

His weird hobby started when Kageyama had given him the answering machine for graduation around six years ago. They weren’t going to the same school, so Kageyama had—to everyone’s, including Hinata’s surprise—gotten him a gift.

 

_“You never answer your cell when I call, and you don’t know how to set up your voicemail properly. So, here… For when you miss my calls.”_

 

Hinata was beyond overjoyed. He couldn’t stop _GWAAAH-ing_ and _BWAAAH-ing_ weeks afterwards, grinning blissfully whenever the machine crossed his line of vision.

 

After he had moved away from home, the sound of Kageyama’s voice had left him feeling less homesick whenever he had left a message. After the first tape had filled up, he had kept it, only saving Kageyama’s messages. It soothed him whenever he was overwhelmed by school or volleyball. Or when he just missed the boy he loved.

 

Ever since their second year in Karasuno, Hinata was indisputably in love with the genius setter. They had grown so close, becoming partners and best friends. And the closer they grew in their friendship, the more scared Hinata became of confessing his feelings, figuring he would ruin the relationship they had worked so hard to build. He didn't want to confirm what he always knew—that they would never be more than friends. Kageyama would never see him the same way. He would never love him back. It wasn't so painful to think about, after all the years that have passed. He accepted it early on. But it was still to the sound of the ravenhead’s voice that he felt most at peace. On really bad days, he would randomly pull out an old tape filled with saved voicemail and listen for hours. It was a small indulgence that allowed him to keep his feelings in check. Besides, he also had—

 

There was a soft knock on the door, barely loud enough to be heard. He quickly put the tape in the box and carefully shoved it back into the closet before scurrying to the front door. He heard a few jingles of keys but flung the door open before it unlocked, a beaming smile already on his face. Kenma was standing there, bags under his eyes and a small smile gracing his lips. One hand held a set of keys and he lifted a brown paper bag with his other.

 

"I brought meat buns," he offered. Hinata’s smile grew and his arms started to fidget, attempting to restrain himself from giving the older a hug. Last time he had done that, they had to deal with very smooshed, kind of sad, pancake-like buns. His boyfriend walked into the flat, taking off his shoes and jacket as he handed the warm paper bag to him. Beaming, Hinata turned the kitchen lights on and placed the food down to grab their plates.

 

“Were you smoking?” He turned to face Kenma, who was leaning outside, holding on to the balcony screen door.

 

“Oh, yeah. Just a little,” he replied, a little sheepish. “Does it smell?”

“No, not too much.” Kenma quickly stepped out and picked up the half-full pack of cigarettes, bringing it inside. Hinata set up the food on the small table next to the window Kenma had opened and grabbed two cans of soda for the both of them. They took their seats and the redhead bit into a warm bun as the blond slid a cigarette and lit it in his mouth.

 

“Waaaay butter dan waffwus,” he said blissfully, his mouth full. Kenma passed him a napkin to wipe with one hand and took slow drags with the other, blowing the smoke through the open window. Hinata threw another bun into his mouth as he watched his boyfriend, always looking _so cool._

 

“I thought you were going to quit,” he quipped in between chews, smirking as his boyfriend turned to face him with small, bored expression.

 

 _“We_ were going to quit,” Kenma corrected. “And so was Kuro, but I know he’s been cheating.” He put out the smoke and took a small nibble out of his bun. Hinata watched him move with such grace, each bite and blink stored away in memory.

 

After six years, he still looked at his boyfriend like he was those high class characters in an old french movie. He always slept through those, but whenever they had someone like Kenma in them, he would stay awake. In black and white, with all the girls fawning over him, aloof and poised. His looks were less handsome and more beautiful. When they first met, he was shy and apprehensive, but he was kind and genuine. Over the years, Kenma had grown into his own, while staying very much the same. He was still the Kenma Hinata had fallen for. The small habits and delightful quirks were still the same from the sixteen-year-old setter he met years ago.

 

“You’re staring.” Hinata’s lids fluttered, caught unaware and zoned out. Kenma was giving him a small smirk as he attempted to hide his blush by turning away. Hinata also came into his own over the years, becoming less skittish and more confident. He leaned over the small table and gently cupped the blond's pink cheek with his hand. He hovered once he got close, staring shamelessly. He pressed their lips softly—his lips chapped and Kenma’s velvet.

 

“Sorry,” Hinata whispered against the older’s mouth, his tone giving away his lack of remorse. Kenma’s cheeks were still stained pink when Hinata sat back down.

 

“Did you hear about Bokuto-san and Akaashi-san getting engaged?” Kenma asked, trying to change the subject. The redhead finished his bun and took a sip of his drink. He nodded, and his chewing slowed to a halt. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. It was no secret how long Bokuto and Akaashi had been together. Hinata remembered how everyone started to wonder if they’d _ever_ get married after so many years of staying stagnant. He wondered if people thought the same of him and Kenma.

 

He did love Kenma, but he knew he wasn’t ready for that yet. However, when he thinks about the future, he sees Kenma there, with him for everything. He imagines them getting both a cat and a dog, traveling overseas at some point, and eating steamed pork buns, just like this. He didn’t see marriage in the near future for him...and he was embarrassed to admit that he had zero clue if it was the same for Kenma too. They never talked about those things and were both so comfortable with where they currently stood in their lives. He honestly couldn’t see that changing.

 

"Yeah, he and Kageyama left me a message about it," he said, his mouth full with the last huge bite he took. He swallowed. "Is that the news you were going to tell me about?" Kenma looked a little hesitant—nervous, even. A feeling of dread overtook him, and he was unsure of how to react.

 

“No, but that could wait until tomorrow,” Kenma eventually said. The redhead let out a small breath of relief. Now more relaxed, he started to lick his fingers clean from the stickiness. Hinata looked up from his hands to see Kenma watching him—calculating. Just as he was about to question his stare, Kenma picked up both of their plates and placed them in the sink before stepping back towards Hinata. He tried to maintain some composure when he felt Kenma’s hand gently glide across his shoulders, but it immediately broke when the older man slowly swung his leg over him so that he was sitting on his lap, arms crawling slowly up his chest and a small smirk in place. Hinata wasn’t sure what to think of the change in mood. Quickly licking his lips, he tried to calm down and wondered where to place his hands.

 

“Um,” he swallowed hard, trying to bite back a stammer and failing. “Wha-what’re you doing?” Without a word, Kenma pulled on his hands with a touch of force and placed them on his hips, following with a gentle roll against the redhead. He shuddered, not really expecting this turn of events since they were both so exhausted.

 

“What’s with you being all shy, now?” the blonde teased, rocking at an easy pace against him. He kept his voice low enough to only be barely heard, and he stared down at the redhead with a neutral expression and sharp, wild eyes. Hinata gulped again. He wasn’t sure if he could last. _“You_ were the one staring at me like that…”

 

Hinata definitely enjoyed it when the older man took control, but he hated that even after _years_ of this, he’d still have moments where he’d become embarrassingly flustered when caught off guard. Kenma was acting differently. He couldn't place it, and it made him feel like a teenager again.

 

“I thought, uh, you wanted to tell me so-something important th-though—” He inhaled sharply when Kenma bounced slightly, sending all his worries and blood straight to his groin.

 

"Tomorrow," he whispered into Hinata's hair, moving in slow circles as the older breathed in his shampoo. Hinata's grip on Kenma’s hips tightened, pulling him closer against his crotch, his breath getting heavier against Kenma's neck. "We'll— _ngh_ , talk tomorrow," the blond huffed.

 

He didn’t know what had gotten into his boyfriend to have made him so forward today. Usually, when Hinata returned from a long job, they’d mostly spend his first night home catching up and cuddling. He’d be eating and sleeping and yapping on and on, asking dozens and dozens of questions while Kenma would be on some electronic device, dividing his attention between his two loves. But this, he thought, was so much better. “I missed you, Shouyou…”

 

Hinata smiled. No, he didn’t want to get married tomorrow, but he will want the conversation eventually. When it came to their relationship, they always took baby steps. He could wait to get serious. He wasn’t in any hurry to change anything. He just wanted this—this slow and inviting pace. He hoped it was mutual.

 

They eventually found themselves on his bed, taking their time to feel each other as they brushed their lips against one another. Hips still rubbing through layers, their heated bodies radiating through the fabric. Kenma was overpowering him as he straddled him and kept his pace slow and grueling. Their hands danced on each other’s chests, and soft mewls escaped their lips. Suddenly, Hinata felt a sharp sting at his side and jerked away. Startled, Kenma quickly pulled back.

 

“What is it?”

 

"Oh, ha- it's nothing. I just…" he slowly lifted his shirt, exposing the tender bruise covering his ribs. He kept his tone playful as he said in a low, gruff voice, _"I got a little battle wound is all."_ Kenma scowled at his lack of concern.

 

“I wouldn’t say _little,”_ he deadpanned, concern lacing his voice. Hinata stared as Kenma slowly brought his hand to his side and gently outlined the bruise with his fingertips, ghosting over his skin. “You should rest, then.” He was about to lift his head when Hinata quickly latched onto his biceps, holding him in place.

 

"Wait, no. I- am, I'm okay. Really," he ground his hips up, somehow trying to convince the troubled look on his boyfriend's face to morph into something else. "Besides, I know you'll be gentle," he teased. Kenma kept his eyes locked on the purple, sensitive skin as he felt Hinata move beneath him. He pushed down on the boy, locking him in place. As Hinata readied himself to complain, the blond slowly moved down and pressed his lips to his side, outlining the bruise in tender kisses. He felt the raw skin ease a little with each peck.

 

He bunched his shirt up to give more room for Kenma to roam. He eventually fully rids himself of the top, throwing it to the foot of the bed. When he tried to remove the older's, his hands were slapped away.

 

Kenma pulled back, looking down at the confused man beneath him. Carefully, he crossed his arms as each hand grabbed the hem of his own shirt. Hinata stilled as his boyfriend lifted his shirt at a snail’s pace. He felt himself salivate when the shirt rose high enough to expose his slim pecs, a small display of ink across his sternum. Once the shirt passed over his head, Kenma lazily threw it behind him and untied his hair from the loose bun he was sporting. His hands slowly descended, one hand twisting the ends of his hair while the other purposely went extra slow down his front and to the buttons of his jeans. Hinata felt himself harden more at the sight. He could get used to this.

 

Suddenly, they heard his phone ring. He growled at the interruption and decided to ignore it in favor of the gamer currently giving him a lesson on all things sexy. He watched as the blond leaned forward, hovering above him. Kenma’s hair tickled the side of his cheeks when again, a deafening cow moo filled the air. A loud groan escaped his lips.

 

“You should just go check it,” Kenma said, lifting himself off the redhead and onto his heels, the younger man grasping at air in futile attempts to keep the blond in his original position. Hinata whined at the distance, a childish pout on his lips as Kenma reached over to the nightstand for his phone. He rested his head on Kenma’s shoulder as the blond typed in his password. Kenma focused on the screen, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. Hinata’s eyes followed the motion, completely missing what Kenma had said.

 

“Hmm?” he asked, slightly embarrassed. Kenma just shook his head, trying to hide the blush that had formed from his boyfriend’s attention.

 

“I said that Kageyama texted you,” he repeated, turning the phone to show Hinata the new message. Hinata’s ears burned. He grabbed his phone and turned it off.

 

"I'll text him later." He dropped the phone onto the floor, reaching for the nightstand to grab a new bottle of lubricant. Now was not the time to think about texting Kageyama back, not when his boyfriend was on top of him. That could wait till later, after he worshiped the silk skin and velvet lips of the blond. Kenma bit his bottom lip and leaned back down, his elbows propped up on either side of Hinata's head. Hinata looked to Kenma who was staring down at him. He shuddered.

 

He could wait for domesticity. He could wait for talks of marriage and pets. The future was scary and alien to him. The present, however... He could stay here forever. Stay underneath the man who's eased him into adulthood and love. Presently, he didn't have to think about disappointing Kenma in the future, to think about his lost chances with a glacial friend of his past. He could stay here forever.

 

After the past week, all he wanted to do was unwind and lounge about with his boyfriend. He wanted silly conversations and steamy kisses in his arms. His job was taxing and his time limited. He wanted to spend days dancing in his underwear and drinking juice straight from the container. He wanted to lose at mario cart and marvel at the gamer prowess of the blond. Hinata wasn't sure how he was able to survive being away from him days at a time.

 

His skin was hot as he smelled sex and cigarette smoke. His hair was damp from sweat and his throat sore. His vision filled with all that was Kenma—disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and hazy eyes.

 

All he could hear was his boyfriend moaning his name, skin against skin, heavy breaths, and in the distance...the sound of a new message on his answering machine.

 

**Kuroo**

 

Before he even opened his eyes, Kuroo knew he wasn’t in his own bed. On occasion, he would find himself in the home of a stranger after a fun night of festivities, but he hardly ever felt so drained after spending the night, never so groggy, or—at ease. Main indicators that suggested he wasn’t at home were that there was a draft coming from an open window (he never leaves them open), his own pillows weren’t nearly as the soft as the ones he’s currently squeezing himself with, and his sheets smelled like _the ocean._ He could also make out the faint smell of cigarettes wafting in from the window, and could hear the ring of the bike bells from students on their way to school—things completely foreign to the tin pan alley he lived in. He also couldn’t remember the last time he heard someone mumble in their sleep.

 

Startled, he became fully awake as his eyes snapped open, immediately remembering last night’s events. He suddenly became very aware of soft lips mumbling incoherencies on the back of his neck, and slim, lean muscled arms wrapped around his chest. He carefully turned his head to look past his shoulders, eyes only able to make out short tufts of blond hair on the head that snuggled against his neck.

 

He remembered that Tsukki was always a heavy sleeper, but he never remembered him to be much of a cuddler. He tried to reposition himself, taking measure not to wake the younger man. He hissed silently, his back and hips aching as he moved. He rested on his elbows while trying to reevaluate all the stupid he had done last night.

 

Last night was just… just…

 

A mistake. A foolish, unexcusable, harrowing misstep that sent him back into the abyss. Four long years of resistance and distance blew up in his face last night, forcing him into a dreaded morning after that left him feeling cheap. He hurt all over, his sore throat making it all the harder to swallow down his filth. His gaze returned to his favorite conquest, sleeping like the dead with only a thin sheet draped over him.

 

He tried to suppress a wince when he got a better look at the damage he had inflicted on the blond’s skin. His eyes traveled from one bruise to another, shamelessly creeping down his neck to descend to hidden flesh. As painful and battered as he seemed, Tsukki looked completely at peace as he slept. Kuroo berated himself for not having the self-control to stop himself last night (and, if he was honest, for marking the boy like a possessive animal). Staying the night really did make it harder for him to find the motivation to leave—especially when Tsukki was sleeping so soundly.

 

Wondering how late he was for work, he stretched his neck to check the clock that read quarter till nine. He sighed, wondering what excuse he could make for being late… If he even decided to leave.

 

He groaned into the too-soft pillows, wondering where his fucking self-restraint went in the last twelve hours. He needed to leave, he needed to be as far away from the addictive blond as humanly possible. He was always the maker of his own demise. Just the day before, he had a grip on his daydreaming for the boy, and now, he was in his bed, trying—for the life of him—to figure out when exactly he decided to sully himself for Tsukki’s nostalgia.

 

It was less complicated years ago. They were young and experimental. They were friendly acquaintances who struck a deal out of mutual attraction and curiosity. Tsukki wanted someone who would enlighten him in intimate manners for the first time, and Kuroo was fascinated by him. It was more simple back then.

 

Now, years later, it was messy. He needed closure, but in his lowest hour, he would settle for distant, cold affection. He became his doormat. Again. This rendezvous was tainted with his unrequited feelings and Tsukki's indifference. They've had this understanding before, done this dance of routines and habits solely to satisfy and quench themselves. However, Kuroo no longer wanted to simply be content, he wanted love. And not just anyone would do. Through all the meaningless consorts and forced detachment, he still found himself wanting the blond sleeping beside him to want him just as he did... But he would not whore himself out just to have some shallow affection. Not again, no matter how enticing it was to have the blond’s warmth in his arms again. He could not give himself up just to be nothing but some pastime for Tsukki. He needed to leave before the blond woke up—before the bile in his mouth disappeared with all his wishful thinking—before he suffocated in the drowning pit of murky waters and destructive currents.

 

He carefully pried Tsukki's hands away, trying his best not to wake him. Once he was free, he sat up, taking in all that he hadn't paid any attention to in the room until now. He couldn't see any of his clothes on the floor or furniture, figuring he would find them in the living room. As he rose from the bed, a loud sharp alarm rang through the room, simultaneously freezing Kuroo in place and waking Tsukki. With a loud groan, the younger man reached to clock on the bedside table and slapped the alarm off, stretching his legs out while rubbing his eyes. Kuroo watched as he sat up and winced from his soreness, groggily opening his eyes. Golden orbs immediately widened once they landed on Kuroo.

 

“Kuroo-san? You’re still here?” he asked in a sharp tone.

 

Kuroo kept his face blank as the words cut through him. He guessed that Tsukki wasn’t used to his admirers sticking around for breakfast. He shouldn’t be so surprised. He shouldn’t feel so hurt.

 

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just not sure where my clothes are," he said nonchalantly, scratching the back of his neck. He flinched when he touched a sensitive etch on his skin, gently running his fingers along the claw mark.

 

"The living room, most likely," Tsukki pulled his knees under his chin, the thin sheet covering below his torso. He offered him a small grin. "Sorry about that," he motioned to Kuroo's back. Kuroo slowly reached behind to feel similar scrapes all over his back.

 

"Oh. Um, yeah, that's okay," he mumbled. He then put on his familiar grin, turning to the blushing man. "Besides, it's not like I was gentle either," he winked, gesturing to Tsukki's bruises. The blond's blush darkened. Kuroo wondered how much dignity he would have to lose before stepping out of the apartment. He got up, making his way out of the room and fetching his clothes. When he found his soiled underwear and shirt, he reluctantly slid them on. Once he grabbed his pants, Tsukki emerged with sweats and leaned against the wall watching him calculatedly.

 

“Kuroo-san?”

 

“Yeah, Tsukki?”

 

“Are you in a hurry?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m late for work, “ he said casually, pulling up his pants.

 

“Are you in too much in a hurry for a cup of coffee?” Kuroo immediately looked up to see Tsukki’s blush still apparent. Kuroo willed himself not to give in to the small, false sense of hope quietly urging him to stay. This was not what Kuroo wished for, this was not an invitation for anything _more._ This was just Tsukki being polite. They weren’t anything. They were strangers.

 

Kuroo had to get out before he threw himself back into bad habits and became another one of Tsukki’s recycled toys.

 

“No. I think it’s best I go,” he answered with a bothered tone, hastily buckling his belt. Tsukki rose a brow, taken aback by his bite.

 

"Okay. Maybe," the blond raised his shoulders and looked away. "We could hang out again...soon." Kuroo felt his scratches flare up at the words. He wasn't a toy. He figured he should finally save himself from falling back into the black hole. He felt his temper getting the better of him.

 

"Actually, Tsukki," he started, a tight smile on his lips and his tone straightforward and saccharine. "We shouldn't." Tsukki's face turned from coy to blank, defenses rising high from his words. Kuroo was sure he used this on all his casual fucks.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, you know. It’s just...” He couldn’t help the venom that tainted his tongue. He couldn’t help the frustration leaking out of him, knowing that everything he assumed they were was correct. This was an instance where he hated being right. He never really had a problem being used before—he’s been used as a one-night stand to get back at someone, to get over a breakup. But he hated that in being used, he was being exposed like this—he hated that there was nothing he could gain from this but maybe some brief satisfaction and an unending, twisting pain that would slowly eat him alive. “This...it’s kinda a bit, _‘Been there, done that,’_ no?”

 

He watched Tsukki’s face turn hard. He never took rejection well—he wouldn’t even from garbage like him. Maybe the venom would help Kuroo ease out of there. Maybe he would be hurt enough to finally be done with all of this. Maybe last night was a last hoorah before Kuroo could finally accept that this is all they ever were to each other, all they could ever be, and move on.

 

"It was fun, but we probably shouldn’t do that again… I'll see you around, I guess." He finally found his wallet and socks and slowly made his way to the door, making sure not to look back in case his resolve weakened. He put on his shoes and turned to leave, hand on the doorknob. He paused.

 

A moment went by and he still couldn’t move.They had never truly had proper closure between them, since Kuroo was unable to face the blond after realizing his romantic feelings. His ego was hurt and his feelings were buried in a mountain of mud, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave things as they were. After so many years of yearning and self-loathing, Tsukki was still a gravity Kuroo wouldn’t, _couldn’t,_ pull away from, even in the midst of escape.

 

He really was pathetic.

 

He turned back, a pained half-smile on his lips as he watched Tsukki gaze out of the open window.

 

"I'd still like to hang out," he whispered, loud enough to be heard. "As friends… If that's okay."

 

He watched the blond before him breathe in slowly, purple marks running along his pale back. Even though he was turned away and his face hidden, Kuroo still couldn’t avert his gaze. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to completely remove himself from the blond. He took a step forward, towards where he stood, a step into the black hole, into the supernova that was him and Tsukki. Even with a sore heart and bruised ego—even if it wasn't how he wanted it to be. He wanted to reach out to the thought of them…

 

Them… He and Tsukki… Tsukki.

 

“We were never friends, Kuroo-san.”

 

His eyes stung and his lungs felt engulfed with panic. He was drowning, all over again. He had always feared this moment between them. He took a moment to collect himself. He didn’t even bother fixing his pained grin, Tsukki still not turning to look at him. _Right,_ he thought, _I almost forgot._ He turned to open the door, giving his last regards.

 

“See ya, Tsukki.” He stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him. Closed the door on futile fantasies and good coffee. He didn’t even need to pretend not to look back.

 

**Kenma**

 

Before he even opened his eyes, Kenma knew he wasn’t in his own bed. This bed was sturdier and less lumpy than his own. He’s had the same springy, shapeless bed since he was in high school. Though it’s well within his budget, he never really prioritized buying a new one. Now, though, he didn’t have to prioritize at _all._ He figured that he’d just share with Shouyou when they moved into their new place.

 

Yesterday, he finally signed the lease to the new apartment, ended his contract at his current place, and scheduled the moving truck for next Thursday. He was finally the one taking the first steps into moving their relationship forward. Through their years together, it had always been Shouyou who initiated everything. Them going out, their first kiss, their first time—it was all Shouyou’s doing. Now, it was his turn. Kenma could feel the excitement bubbling in his stomach. He didn’t even remember why he felt so unsure of this a few weeks ago. He turned to his sleeping boyfriend, completely knocked out from his grueling week at work and due to well, _other_ strenuous activities.

 

He usually hated watching people sleep, but it was different with Shouyou. He’s woken up to ungodly sights like Kuro smothering himself with pillows and Lev sleepwalking (he almost had a heart attack back in high school, when he woke up to Lev hovering over him in his sleep, mumbling something in Russian, which he supposedly didn’t know how to speak). Shouyou, however, looked like a child—breathing in the morning sun and giving off small rays of warmth. He liked the waves of orange tresses crowning his head and his peachy skin glow against the light fluttering through the blinds.

 

His serene smile fell as he saw the bruise that ran along Shouyou’s ribs. He didn't enjoy seeing Shouyou so bruised and battered from work, nor did he enjoy knowing that the redhead’s profession constantly put him in harm's way. Plus, he always missed him miserably. Kenma was a shy and reserved person, but Shouyou always brought him out of his shell. He smiled more when he was around, laughed more, and expressed himself more. Kenma had a hard time when the redhead wasn't around to ground him and prevent him from venturing back into his world of self-doubt. It was a little terrifying how important he was to him. He needed him. He loved him. He wanted to be with him as much as possible, and if they moved in together, Shouyou will always come home to find Kenma waiting for him there.

 

They had the keys to each other’s places, had their own shelves for clothing and toiletries, even knew the each other’s _neighbors,_ but it wasn’t the same. Even though Shouyou has Kenma’s favorite shampoo in bulk at his place (the redhead made the mistake of having Kenma use his own generic brand in his sophomore year, which resulted in Kenma using up his entire bottle in two washes and uncharacteristically stomping out of the shower growling, _I think this is giving me lice)_ and Kenma would always have a large bag of rice and at least two packs of eggs in his fridge (despite his small appetite and preference for pasta), it was not the same. It wasn’t _enough._ Kenma would always yearn for the redhead. Last night, his immense longing to see the younger boy had gotten the better of him. He had noted his tenderness, making sure he didn’t harm him any further. He hated when he was away, out of reach from Kenma’s safeguard. However, soon, Kenma wouldn’t have to worry about Shouyou coming home to a silent and cold apartment anymore. He'll always have Kenma there, welcoming him home.

 

Kenma carefully eased off the bed, not wanting to disturb Shouyou (more of a habit than a precaution really—not even a seven magnitude earthquake would wake the redhead up when he was _this_ out cold), and tiptoed to the bathroom to clean himself up. He wasn’t entirely sure how he wanted to tell him about the apartment, but his best guess was to do it over breakfast. After washing up, he went to the kitchen and turned on the rice-cooker. He started the coffee machine, washed yesterday’s dishes, and made some side dishes. The smaller boy finally emerged from his room, yawning as he stretched. He had some crusted drool on his chin, his hair was almost a Kuro-level disaster, and his eyes were barely open as he slumped into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. Kenma could get used to waking up to the sight every morning.

 

"Gawmawring," he yawned.

 

“Good morning, Shouyou.”

 

He placed some warmed raw eggs on the table as he handed the redhead a heaping bowl of rice, going back to grab some toast and snap peas. He sipped his coffee as he watched his boyfriend across from him break a few eggs over the steaming rice, careful not to drop pieces of shell. They ate in comfortable silence for few minutes, Shouyou scarfing down his food and Kenma watching, anticipation surging through his gut.

 

Noticing Kenma's behavior, Shouyou looked back at him, mouth full and brows raised.

 

“Yeeees?”

 

"Nothing," Kenma mumbled, hiding the blush blooming across his cheeks with his mug. Shouyou wasn't convinced, but he continued to eat. They talked quietly about how Shouyou had a few days rest from work, Kenma's latest hassling from his editor, and how Shouyou wanted to go watch a movie Thursday night. There, Kenma saw an opportunity.

 

“I can’t, actually,” he replied calmly. Shouyou tilted his head, confused.

 

“Why not? Did we have plans that I forgot about?” he asked.

 

“Well, it’s just,” he smiled shyly. “I’m moving to a new place that day.”

 

“What, really?!” Shouyou’s eyes widened and his lips curled into a puzzled frown. “Why didn’t you tell me? I can help!!” He lifted his arm, jesting as he flexed his arms to show off his muscles. “See?? Dem guns!”

 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.” Kenma wasn’t anxious, but he felt on edge— _impatient._ He just wanted them to live together already. But he only had to wait a few days and there would no longer be a ‘Shouyou’s place’ and a ‘Kenma’s place’, but a place of their own. _Shouyou and Kenma’s place._

 

"Well, my answer is yes. Of course I'll help you move!!" Shouyou smiled brightly at him. Kenma put down his cup and reached across the table. Shouyou slowly placed his hands on his, giving them a soft squeeze.

 

"I don't _just_ want your help moving, though…"

 

“Oh?” Kenma felt lightheaded, almost like he was flying as he stared back at Shouyou. This must be what’s it’s like to take a leap. He gave him his most radiant smile, small and without regrets.

 

“Move in with me.”

  


 

 

An entire minute passed before Kenma’s smile faltered. He wondered what was going on in his boyfriend's head, his sharp eyes never leaving his face, mind going at 20,000 kph, trying to figure out why nothing was happening. Did time stop? Shouyou was just sitting there, staring at him with a shocked expression, his hands limp in the blond’s. A sense of panic washed over Kenma when Shouyou's gaze fell from his own, hands retreating back to his lap.

 

“Move in...with you?” Kenma tried his best not to let the redhead’s tone crush his spirits.

 

“Yes. You and me. Together.”

 

“Don’t you think it’s too last minute? I mean, what if we run into problems?”

 

“No, that’s—that’s the thing. I found this place not just for me, but for us. I… I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“For us?”

 

“Yeah, it’s um… It’s really nice, Shouyou. Um,” he started, unsure of what to say. “It’s actually very spacious so all of our things will fit—even your trophies and my computer monitors. Cool, right?” He could hear the stress lingering in his voice. “I made sure.”

 

He had been ready to sell him on the new place, facts and features memorized. What he wasn’t expecting was the lack of excitement and the cold air that seemed to seep through the windows.

 

“It has great security, no mold or pest problems, and it’s a short walk from the train.”

 

“Oh…” The younger sounded off, distant even. Kenma kept going.

 

"Yeah, and it has a grocery store down the street and a flower shop. It's a residential area, so the neighborhood’s quiet and well maintained. I made sure it was within our budget and it has an AC and a heater system. It also has a washer and dryer so we don't have to go all the way to the laundromat anymore. And..." He knew he was rambling, he did. It was very unlike him. Whenever he felt uneasy or nervous, he would curl inside of himself and detach from his surroundings. He didn't ramble, that was more Shouyou's style. But right now, talking was the only way he could think of to drown the heavy silence suffocating him.

 

He looked up to see the younger zoning out, attention elsewhere. Kenma shoulders tightened.

 

“Shouyou?” He watched the redhead’s glazed eyes blink rapidly, face still neutral and vacant of any excitement. “Shouyou?” he repeated. He watched him clear his throat and take a slow, lingering inhale before finally looking at Kenma.

 

“But...why?” It wasn’t really his words that were unsettling Kenma. It was the way he was speaking. The Shouyou before him didn’t seem like the one he knew.

 

“Why...what?”

 

“Why would we move out?” The Shouyou he knew didn’t look at him with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. This wasn’t him.

 

“It’s not about moving out, it’s about moving in. Together.”

 

“But why?”

 

"Because it's about time. Don't you think so too?" He didn't think he was being unreasonable. "I mean...it makes sense. We're past comfortable with each other and it's reasonable. Besides, it makes sense for us to take the next step in our relationship." Shouyou looked at him, a certain gentleness in his eyes gone. It was replaced with wariness.

 

Shouyou was always smiling. He was always honest and genuine. After maturing, he was still the same. He was still Shouyou.

 

"...I don't think we should rush anything. And, um, I also don't think we should decide anything based on what's normal for other couples, y’know?"

 

But today, Shouyou wasn’t the Shouyou he knew.

 

“We’ve been together for six years,” Kenma said calmly, trying to hide the faint tremble in his voice.

 

“Well,” Shouyou’s voice rose, his tone turning defensive. “I don’t think we should do something just because it makes sense.” Frustration filled the air. “I love where we are—is that such a bad thing?”

 

“What does that even mean?”

 

“I just...I don’t know if that’s what I want.”

 

Kenma pulled back. This… He was not expecting this. Worst case scenario was that he would have had to wait a little while for Shouyou to move in. He never expected him to downright _refuse._ If they didn’t move forward, what was the point? Where was this all heading? He finally let his vexation seep into his voice.

 

"So, what now? Am I supposed to wait around for another couple of years to _maybe_ live together? _If you ever want to?"_

 

"I...I'm not ready, and—I'm sorry I can't give you some set time when I _will_ be. But I, I mean," he pleaded, "I'm just being honest."

 

"Did you ever think that I was ready? That maybe after so long, I'd want more than just sleepovers and a single drawer?" He felt the iciness in his own words. Frustration was making it hard to keep his usual restraint on his temper.

 

_If they just stayed the same…_

 

“What about you? Did you ever stop to think about what _I_ wanted? Before you did — all of _this?”_

 

“Was it so wrong to assume that we’d want the same thing?”

 

"So you just moved out, signed the lease for a new apartment, and decided for the both of us without even asking me!?"

 

“I thought you’d want to be with me.”

 

“I never said I didn’t! I’m just not _ready!”_

 

Kenma didn’t know this person. This yelling man across from him with furrowed brows and tight fists—this man who he believed wanted the same thing he did—was a stranger.

 

“Why not?”

 

_Why were they together?_

 

"Because I don't want to move in with you solely because you felt left behind by every other couple!"

 

A breeze drifted its way through the window as Shouyou froze, his words slowly catching up with him. He watched Kenma go from wide-eyed and flinching, to hurt and distant. A sad, small laugh escaped his lips.

 

Kenma couldn’t believe what just happened. Here… He actually thought he was being daring, _romantic_ even. He got them an apartment with great space, prime locations, and fucking _flower boxes_ outside their windows. Embarrassment cloaked him as he looked down to his hands clenching the fabric of his pants. His hair fell to the front of his face, shielding his eyes from the world around him.

 

He didn’t know this man. Shouyou wouldn’t break his heart like this.

 

“That’s what you think? That I’m just doing this because I felt _left behind?_ That all that I did was for the sake of _catching up with them?_ For _appearances?”_

 

“No! I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant.. I-I just…” He couldn’t find the right words, each passing second allowing Kenma to wallow in the weight of his delusional gesture.

 

"Well, I'm sorry if I misinterpreted things. I was under the assumption that we were serious… Six years would make anyone think that, really." Maybe he was being unreasonable, but Kenma felt like he was bleeding. He didn't take risks in the relationship. Shouyou always took the first steps, but when it was Kenma, it seemed that their relationship took painful, turbulent falls.

 

He felt his humiliation fester into thoughts of betrayal.

 

“We _are_ serious! I love you, I want to be with you forever! But I just don’t want to rush anything!” Shouyou jumped to his feet, crouching next to the blond, one hand on his cheek, urging him to look back at him.

 

“Well, I’m sorry. Sorry if I misread everything.”

 

“Kenma…” He stumbled back when Kenma abruptly stood up, chair scraping against the floor and coffee left unfinished.

 

He almost wondered what had gotten into him. He didn't take risks. That was always Shouyou. But maybe…

 

“Kenma!” Shouyou called after him as he walked out of his reach, storming into the redhead’s room and grabbing his bag. Kenma hated throwing tantrums like this. He hated leaving fights unresolved. He didn’t get mad at honesty, even if it hurt. He did, however, shut down when things got too hard, close in on himself and tell the rest of the world to fuck off. He was quiet and closed off, liked to be alone and liked a screen between him and anyone capable of hurting him. And Shouyou would never be in that group. He loved Shouyou, and it meant the world to him that Shouyou loved him back—that Shouyou looked at him the same way he did—looked in his eyes and saw an entire future for them to fulfill together. A future that he didn’t want to keep waiting, a future that he couldn’t wait to live. But maybe...

 

Shouyou never saw any of that. Nothing past where they were now.

 

_We’ve been together for six years. If he doesn’t want to take the next step now, will he ever?_

 

Without a word, he stepped out of the apartment, roughly slamming his feet into his shoes, bending their heels. He vaguely registered a loud thump and Shouyou yelling after him, but his mind was busy telling him to calm down and get out of there _now._ He hugged his bag close to his chest and hunched his shoulders as he hurried down the stairs, eyes trained on his untied shoelaces. The train ride home was a blur, his mind urging himself to take deep breaths, face covered by his bag as he made himself as small as possible in his seat.

 

It wasn't until he stumbled into the safe familiarity of his own apartment that he realized the loud thump from before was the redhead crashing in the hallway. A painful, turbulent fall. He must have tripped over that hulking heavy workbag of his. Normally, the blond would have chastised him for leaving it in the middle of the hallway again, but he was distracted last night—by other things. He grit his teeth. He hoped that Shouyou's bruise didn't get worse.

 

Sluggishly, he toed off his shoes and gracelessly dropped his heavy bag against the wall. He stood at the entrance, shoulders slumped and eyes prickling with salt. His heavy curtains kept most of the morning sun trapped behind them, but he still could make out his apartment being overrun with boxes and bubble wrap from the small crevices of light peeking through. His simple furnishings and trinkets placed along crumpled newspapers and rolls of duct tape precariously placed on piles of folded clothing and stacks video game boxes.

 

He stood there in silence for what felt like hours, slightly swaying on his feet. He eventually moved towards the kitchen for water, his throat itchy and dry. As he was about to turn towards the tap, the loose, hole-filled sock he wore caught under his foot, plunging him straight to the cold kitchen floor with a loud thump. His head bounced on the tile, sending a sharp ring through his ears.

 

After his vision focused and the room stopped spinning, he laid still as blood dripped slowly from his nose and his bruised cheek rested on the floor. His body was slack and eyes red. He didn’t remember when he brought his knees to his chest and started sobbing. He hurt all over, his face throbbing and heart aching. _This wasn’t supposed to happen._ He was in pain—pain from a delusional future and shared bruises.

 

**_January 23_ **

 

**Oikawa**

 

“Hello, sir. May I take your order?” a waitress asked, walking up to the table and pulling out her receipt book, eyes still not looking up as she waited for the customer to speak.

 

“Actually, I’m still waiting on my friend. But, may I get a glass of water while I wait, please?”

 

"Sure," she said, looking up. When she finally saw who she was serving, she dropped her notepad and squealed.

 

“ _Oh my god!_ Oh my god, you—you’re Oikawa Tooru!” she shrieked, grabbing the attention of some other patrons. Oikawa put his menu down on the table and gave her a smile, watching her blush darken.

 

"Oh, yes. That’s me~" He cooed. Oikawa was used to this. He was often stopped in public by his adoring fans. His admirers knew no limit to the adoration they all showered him with—fan mail, gifts, marriage proposals—he truly was blessed with such a devoted and supportive fanbase.

 

“Do you mind if I get a picture, please!?”

 

“Of course not. Go right ahead.” The server pulled out her phone from her back pocket. She posed for a selfie and Oikawa gave his routine charming smile, dazzling the camera. When she pulled back to check the picture, she giggled, thanking him, then went off, insisting that she’d be right back with his water.

He smirked, relishing in the attention from the waitress and the eyes of the other customers. It was busy at the restaurant—it being lunchtime on a weekend—but he didn't mind the attention. Quite the opposite. He figured he should enjoy it before Iwa-chan showed up and ruined his fun.

 

He chuckled, thinking that if anyone was going to ruin their lunch, it was going to be Oikawa. He’d either piss off Iwa-chan with his attention seeking ways, end up causing a riot due to all his fans trying to get near his wonder...or shock him with the news of him having been in a serious relationship with his arch-nemesis for the past two years.

 

When the waitress returned with water, Oikawa ordered a strong drink, convinced that he would not be able to get through that conversation completely sober.

 

He and Ushijima had a long discussion after their fight, agreeing that they needed to put effort into making their relationship work. They needed to prove that they were ready for commitment. Ushijima respected Oikawa's concerns about their relationship being public knowledge, so he compromised and agreed to only tell their close family and friends.

 

He had talked with his older siblings a few nights ago, figuring he’d ease the news onto them before telling his parents. His entire family knew of his sexuality (they suspected him and Iwa-chan long before anything ever happened), but his parents would not be okay knowing that their son had been hiding about his very serious live-in boyfriend from them for two whole years. He scowled as recalled his sister’s judgmental lecture and his brother’s dramatic rebuttal during the phone calls he made.

 

He was planning on going back home to Miyagi next month, and Ushijima had offered to go with him. Going back home with all this news was a scary thought. Telling majority of his friends during Makki’s birthday next week was also setting his nerves on edge. How was he going to bring _that_ up? What was scarier more than anything else, however, was the fact that he was planning on telling his best friend the news _today,_ during lunch...if he ever showed up.

 

A part of him, no matter how much he loved spending time with Iwaizumi, hoped he wouldn’t show up. Iwa-chan would be, too put it lightly, _highly disgruntled_ if he found out that his childhood _best friend_ was hiding such a huge secret from him for two years. He would forgive him for bailing if it meant that Oikawa could avoid the risk of being in danger of his wrath.

 

There was, however, a part of him that wondered if Iwa-chan had already suspected (or worse, he already _knew)_ about him and Ushijima. Maybe he already gathered that they were in a relationship and has been waiting for him to tell him, ready to give him the beating of a lifetime. He sighed, accepting that it didn’t matter regardless—he would not leave this lunch unscathed. He had made a promise to Ushijima, a promise that he knew had to be fulfilled if he wanted their relationship to work.

 

“Oi, did you order without me, Trashkawa?” Sporting a smile, he was about to turn and greet his best friend, but a slap hit him upside his head, forcing him to hunch forward, nearly knocking over his drink.

 

 _“OW!_ Iwa-chaaaan! That hurts,” he pouted, rubbing the back of his head as Iwaizumi took his seat across from him.

 

“That’s what you get for ordering before I got here, you ass.”

 

“I just ordered a _drink,_ though,” he whined, smiling wide as if he wasn’t just struck by the other man. He watched Iwa-chan scowl at him, opening the menu.

 

After they ordered and Iwaizumi got annoyed at the swooning waitress, they chatted about work and practice. Iwaizumi lectured Oikawa about resting on his days off and Oikawa brushed it off, letting it go through one ear and out the other. When their meals came out, Oikawa grabbed a spoonful of Iwa-chan’s food before he could stop him. A regular routine between them. Oikawa chuckled, thinking about how they really do act like a couple.

 

“What’s so funny?” Iwaizumi asked, voice still gruff from Oikawa’s antics.

 

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about something silly.”

 

He harrumphed. “Better not fucking be about me,” he warned.

 

"Don't worry, Iwa-chan. It is," he teased. Iwaizumi just shook his head, expecting that answer. They continued to catch up, talking about Makki's birthday, about Kyoutani and Yahaba's scandalous breakup, and about Oikawa's new deal with his sponsors. He also tried to bring up that he had heard from a little birdy named Mattsun that Iwa-chan had gone on a little date. Iwaizumi immediately denied any such thing, claiming to be far too busy to date. The taller man tried his best not to smile too brightly at the news.

 

Oikawa almost didn't register that his knee was resting against Iwaizumi's underneath the table. He was about to reposition his leg until Iwaizumi gave him a look that said he wasn't bothered by it. In fact, Iwaizumi moved his leg to the side so that they're knees were snug against each other's, placing his next to Oikawa's. He knew Oikawa always played footsies with him, and no matter all the complaining and irked expressions, he always played along. They still acted like teenagers sometimes.

 

Oikawa's train of thought faltered, thinking back to when they were adolescents and what the other man's gesture would have done to his seventeen-year-old self's nerves. Just like that, maybe for the first time in Oikawa's fast paced life, he felt uncomfortable being so close to Iwa-chan.

 

It was such a norm for them, to always anchor themselves to the other, neither batted an eyelash for the most part. They always fell into this comfortable routine. They were like a married couple. And the more they behaved this way, the more Oikawa’s resolve to tell him about him and Ushijima slipped between his fingers.

 

He was selfish, that much he knew. He knew that he was a coward, too. And now, Oikawa feels dirty about the feelings he’s had for Iwaizumi since childhood. He was basically on a date with his best friend, while his boyfriend hid in the shadows waiting for him for him to come home. With the dilemma of his secret and the pressure to finally come clean hovering over him, he felt his cowardice and selfishness rise to the surface.

 

How could he tell him?

 

When Iwaizumi tries to lie about not dating in front of him, then how was Oikawa suppose to not keep his hopes high? That perhaps the odds were still in his favor? How could he not when Iwaizumi would willingly spend his day off with him and let his knee rest on his? How could Oikawa bring himself to tell Iwaizumi that he has someone waiting for him at home at this very moment when he gives him sweet half-smiles across bread baskets and linen tablecloths?

 

The fact of the matter, however, was that now, he didn’t just have someone—he had _two_ someones. He had the man who’s giving him a chance at a nice romance and the man who will always be the boy he loves.

 

He was selfish, so he selfishly kept his mouth shut and selfishly kept his hopes high. He’ll hate himself later. He’ll fight with Ushijima later. He’ll remember that his love was one-sided later.

 

He was also foolish. He felt the pain at the back of his head reemerge, thinking that a simple smile and quick lunch was all it took for him to easily forget that he owed Ushijima more. He let his false hopes get in the way of being fair to his loving boyfriend. Oikawa placed his utensils down, having lost his appetite. Iwaizumi was quick to notice.

 

“You have to eat, idiot.”

 

“I’m not really hungry,” he shrugged, giving him a reassuring smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Iwaizumi glared at him, knowing he hated that smile.

 

“Don’t make me hit you.”

 

“Okay,” he sighed, guilt distracting him from his usual cheeky retort. This time, Iwaizumi stopped eating, concern lacing his handsome face.

 

"Hey, Oikawa. What's wrong?" It was a question that came across as a demand, promising a whooping if he tried to lie to him. He knew his best friend well enough to know it wasn't an empty threat. So he gave him a half-truth.

 

"I've just been practicing too much is all." He stuck out his tongue towards him. "You know me." He watched a vein bulge from Iwaizumi's left temple. It was his favorite expression. He had many fond memories with that expression.

 

“Don’t fucking _start_ with me, Trashkawa.”

 

The rest of their meal was filled with one-sided insults and half-hearted comebacks. They finished their food and paid, Oikawa leaving his autograph for some of the employees. Once out of the restaurant, Iwaizumi told him to message him later—probably to reprimand him for something—and pulled younger into a hug. Oikawa returned it with a squeeze, relishing in Iwaizumi's warmth and his own foolishness. He tried not to notice the lingering smell of his cologne on his scarf as he walked home.

 

He opened his apartment door, keys jingling as he placed them on a tray on top of a stand near the entrance. His walk home was bleak as he attempted to think of ways he was to tell Ushijima he had chickened out. He slipped off his shoes as he called out, wondering where the larger man could be. A moment later he saw the male emerge from Oikawa's room, or the guest room. Oikawa could see he was holding a polishing cloth in his hand and figured he must have finished up his weekly polishing of all the trophies in that room. He liked to do that when he had time on his hands, but Oikawa also knew that polishing them helped the male relieve stress and kept his mind off things when he was feeling anxious. Oikawa's guilt only towered over him that much more.

 

 _“Please_ tell me that you _only_ polished the volleyball trophies,” he sighed, walking down the hallway and leaned against the wall. Ushijima looked away, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, I figured.”

 

“How did it go?” the larger male asked. Ushijima was never one for subtlety, but Oikawa still wasn’t fully ready to answer him. He was still internally kicking himself for breaking his promise. Ushijima’s tone was stern but Oikawa knew there was no malice behind it. Most of the rigidness in Ushijima’s countenance was just a part of his tame personality, but Oikawa could see rigid lines in between his words that were filled with the smallest peaks of nervousness and jealousy.

 

“It went fine, I guess,” he said casually, rolling his neck so he had an excuse to look anywhere else but at the other man. “I had to deal with some pictures being taken, but that’s normal, I guess. Plus, I think someone might have touched my hair…”

 

“Oikawa,” Ushijima warned.

 

"Oh! And I tried that new salad everyone’s raving about, _only_ to have them mess it up. Could you believe that, Waka-chan? I was about to throw a fit," he complained, his frantic attempts to stall going nowhere. "And you know Iwa-chan—he was as unpleasant as usual—"

 

“Oikawa.” He stopped his rambling, finally allowing his eyes to meet the larger man’s. Ushijima really was bad at hiding his jealousy. When they all go out as a huge group, he has a better grip on his outward resentment for the shorter ace, never saying a word or act impulsively when he sees his boyfriend ignore him completely and drape himself all over Iwaizumi. He doesn’t lift a finger when he watches them interact like they’ve never broken up. But when he was in the privacy of his own home and his boyfriend wasn’t distracted by past loves, Ushijima’s jealousy was as obvious as Oikawa's overt cheekiness.

 

But Ushijima never pushed him. They fought about the situation, but Ushijima never asked him to stop. He never asked Oikawa to stop talking to Iwaizumi, never told him he couldn’t be around him. He never tried to push Oikawa away from his past feelings, always waiting patiently in the background until Oikawa could come back to him. But how much longer will he have to wait?

 

“Don’t worry,” he tried to tease, hoping to relieve some tension, “There wasn’t any funny business under the table.” He immediately regretted the joke, seeing Ushijima’s jaw clench and his grip tighten.

 

Oikawa's guilt always manifests after he thinks of just how much he takes advantage of the man in front of him. Maybe he himself is the real reason why they would never work, never be happy. Maybe he’s the one sabotaging the relationship. He found himself wondering if that was why he and Iwaizumi didn't work out either. He grit his teeth. Now was not the time to think about his one-sided feelings, not when his boyfriend was standing in front of him with hurt in his eyes and disappointment written all over his face.

 

“You didn’t tell him...did you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

 

Oikawa licked his lips, wondering if he was ever actually planning on saying anything to Iwa-chan. He bit down a snarky reply as he saw Ushijima’s demeanor morph from defensive to defeated. All Oikawa could do was lower his head and shake it from side to side, confirming the larger man’s suspicions.

 

Ushijima walked forward, brushing past Oikawa as he slowly made his way down the hallway. Oikawa turned sharply, feeling that he should at least try to explain himself. It was the very least he could do.

 

"It's not like I went with the intention of _not_ telling him! Jeez, I just didn't know how to ease it into the conversation," Oikawa huffed. He tried following behind him, trying to think of any excuse that could possibly appease him and remove that expression from his face. He hated that expression. _"C’moooon._ Don’t be upset with me,” he reached out to hug him from behind, slowly wrapping his arms around the bigger man, figuring it was the best bet to make him relax. “What if I promise to let you do that thing wit—”

 

"Tooru." Ushijima cut him off, strain thick in his voice. Oikawa stopped his blabbering, again affirming that he was not a good person to have made someone like Ushijima Wakatoshi sound this way. He took a moment before answering, arms still around firm muscles and soft fabric.

 

“Yes?”

 

"Do you ever think of a future where you and I are together?"

 

He's thrown off by the question, unsure how to feel about it, unsure of how to answer. When he thought of the future, it seemed like a fantasy. One with him playing volleyball and Iwaizumi by his side. So if he was being honest—no, he's never thought of a future with him and Ushijima—keeping up what he once thought was nothing but a charade. He never thought about a future with him, but he felt like he could start to see one now. He was making the effort in telling his family and friends that he so surely wanted to be in a relationship like this. Surely he wanted to put work into something that's been nothing but supportive and good for him, nothing but loving and mutual. But he couldn't lie to him. Those fantasies of the future never had Ushijima in them. Before he could even begin formulating a response, Ushijima continued.

 

"Because I do," he said, voice soft. "All the time. I'm willing to do...almost anything for you." He sighs, Oikawa holding on as he listens, his breath quickening. "I love you and I have sacrificed plenty to prove it. But, as much as I love you, there's only so much of this I can take."

 

Oikawa starts to believe that he really _is_ the reason why he couldn't be happy, and his guilt is like poison coursing through his body when he realizes that he's _also_ the reason why _Ushijima_ couldn't be happy either. _I’m really not a good person,_ he thought.

 

“And I’m not interested in being a placeholder.”

 

He wished he could tell Ushijima how often he wished for his unrequited feelings to disappear—for his sake, for Ushijima’s, for Iwaizumi’s. How often he’s cried, begging for some miracle to rid him of his burden. He never intended it to become Ushijima’s burden too.

 

“I’m sorry. I really am,” he said quietly, knowing that he didn't deserve all that the other man gave. All Oikawa knew was how to take. All he knew was that he’s selfish. Selfishly in love with another man, selfishly keeping another man waiting, selfishly wanting them both. He wished he could just accept that Iwa-chan would never love him like Ushijima does.

 

“I’ll try harder. I’ll tell him next time. I will, I promise,” he swore, tightening his hold. Ushijima just placed his hand on top of his knuckles. He felt foolish for giving him another empty promise. But like all his lies, he hid them with half-truths.

 

**_January 24_ **

 

**Yamaguchi**

 

It had only taken them twenty minutes in the first jeweler for Yamaguchi to find the perfect ring for Yachi—simple and beautiful, like her. He had finally gotten her a ring that she deserves and had finally gathered the courage to take the first step in their future together. He had always imagined himself waking up to silly faces and morning breath. He wanted a future filled with burnt pancakes on Saturday mornings. One with goofy texts and sweet smiles. He beamed as he walked along the busy street, his best friend who seemed to have a scowl permanently etched onto his face alongside him. Out of the two most important blondes in his life, Tsukki was always the one who was the hardest to impress.

 

“It was perfect, huh, Tsukki?”

 

“It was alright, I guess.” He said, his tone crabby and sour. Yamaguchi frowned. His friend was acting strange today.

 

When he met up with Tsukki that day to go shopping, he had immediately noticed his melancholic demeanor. At first, he thought that it was because he was being dragged to yet _another_ trip helping someone find an engagement ring. This would be Tsukki's third ring shopping experience, the first two being with his brother and Akaashi. It wouldn't be such a farfetched assumption to think that he's long past the novelty of ring shopping by now.

 

“You guess?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You don't sound very enthused…”

 

“It’s just a ring.”

 

Yamaguchi had known Tsukki long enough to know when something is bothering him and when something is eating away at him. When Tsukki's annoyed, he's grouchy. When he's upset, he turns cold, terse and at times, cruel. He can see that the hard lines on his face and disinterested gaze was leaning towards him being upset about something serious.

 

“Is everything alright, Tsukki?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You sure?”

 

 _“Yes,_ Yamaguchi.”

 

“Tsukki…”

 

“Yamaguchi,” he sighed.

 

“Come on. Tell me,” he pleaded, sporting his puppy dog eyes and kind smile. His friend almost looked _offended_ at how Yamaguchi thought that expression would actually work on him. Thing was, after a minute into their standoff, Tsukki sighed again and looked away from his childhood friend. He opened and closed his mouth, obviously having trouble finding the right words. Yamaguchi started to worry.

 

“I just… Something happened. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“Tsukki.”

 

“Honestly.”

 

_“Tsukki.”_

 

“Yamaguchi.”

 

 _"Enough._ Stop stalling." He didn't want his friend to look like such a sourpuss for the rest of the day, and the fact that the blond was still being this difficult was enough to alert Yamaguchi that whatever it was, it was a lot more serious than what the taller let on. "Go on."

 

“I had a bad weekend.”

 

“Okay. Why?” He watched Tsukki drop his gaze again, swaying on his feet. He could feel his stubbornness resurface. Now he was both worried _and_ curious. It had been a long time since Tsukki’s acted this way.

 

“Since when did you become so parental?”

 

“Tsukki.”

 

“I swear you’re over exaggerating. You’re like Akiteru sometimes.”

 

 _“Kei,”_ he warned. Tsukki closed his mouth begrudgingly. He looked back down at his hands that had been fidgeting in front of him since Yamaguchi started his pestering. He had to, though. They were best friends. And seeing Tsukki’s hands press against each other and wringing, watching him blush while refusing to look him in the eyes—it only further fueled Yamaguchi’s worry.

 

Being his best friend, Yamaguchi knew all his quirks. He knew when Tsukki wanted to watch movies, he knew what Tsukki sounded when he was about to get a cold. He knew how much Tsukki hated the summer heat and knew how much he loved strawberry chews. Over the years, he had cataloged all things Tsukishima Kei. Yamaguchi knew almost everything about the blond, and he knew the one thing that Tsukki had always kept close to his chest, too embarrassed and too dejected to openly talk to Yamaguchi about it. To talk to _anyone_ about it.

 

But he always knew him better than the blond thought. He bent forward and crouched so that Tsukki was looking down at his face. Yamaguchi kept his smile small, but sincere.

 

“It’s okay, Tsukki,” he assured. “You can tell me.”

 

He knew him. He knew when Tsukki was happy and when he was sad. And he knew that now, when he’s sad, it was always because of the same thing. In a flash, defensive turned into neutral. The hard lines in his expression fell. Neutral turned into broken. His shoulders looked heavy and his flesh seemed raw.

 

“I hung out with Kuroo-san.”

 

Tsukki was one of the two most important blondes in Yamaguchi’s life. He knew Tsukki almost better than anyone. But there were still people who knew Tsukishima Kei better than he. And sometimes, the people who knew him best were toxic.

 

“Just hung out?” he asked. Tsukki shook his head, not wanting to say anything more.

 

Yamaguchi had known about Tsukki's predicament with Kuroo Tetsurou since the very beginning of their arrangement—before that, even. He had been there during their second year of high school when Tsukki (under protest, mind you) told him about his annoying crush on the older boy, been there during the end of their third year when he reassured Yamaguchi that he didn't have to worry about him only being a fuck buddy, been there three years later when Tsukki had called him telling him that he couldn't endure those one-sided feelings of his any longer (crying, confused, and absolutely defeated), and had been there a year after when Tsukki told him that Kuroo left.

He had been there through it all. Tsukki had his sympathies through it all and his unwavering support. And while Tsukki had his love, Kuroo had his loathing.

 

Tsukki wasn’t a victim, he knew that. He carried some of the blame by going along with three years of being disposable to the other. But Yamaguchi loved Tsukki, so he could forgive him for being foolish. He could support him for being (surprisingly) naive. He could hold him as he broke down on his doorstep unexpectedly, wishing he was braver—because he loved him. He would do anything for him. He could even be strong enough to hate Kuroo Tetsurou in his stead.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked, watching Tsukki shake his head once again, words failing him. After a moment, the blond coughed, clearing his throat, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

 

“No,” he said quietly, “Not yet.” He wouldn’t push him. He knew Tsukki better than that. They had a mutual understanding. He placed a hand on the taller boy’s shoulder.

 

“Okay.”

 

It hurt seeing Tsukki look so defeated, and he wanted to know exactly what happened with Kuroo, but Yamaguchi knew that prying more wouldn’t get him anywhere. He would wait for when the blond was ready to open up to him. That’s always been their way.

 

“Thank you,” his friend mumbled, and before he continued walking, Yamaguchi grabbed his elbow, halting him. Tsukki rose a fine brow, unsure of what to expect.

 

“You deserve better, Tsukki.”

 

He did deserve better. He deserved someone who knew just how worthwhile he was. The former Nekoma captain failed to see just how much compassion and genuine marvel was hidden behind the towering, cold walls of the one who was so in love with him. But Yamaguchi saw it—he knew all things Tsukishima Kei.

 

“That’s easy for you to say.”

 

“Maybe…but I have someone in mind,” he started. He wanted to lighten the mood, seeing as Tsukki was so crestfallen. And he recalled something he was wanting to talk to him about anyways.

 

"...And if you wanted to start seriously dating some decent people…"

 

He wanted Tsukki to be happy with someone. Someone who would appreciate everything that was Tsukishima Kei. Who would appreciate that he was a difficult person and a huge nerd. Who would appreciate the snark and bite in his voice and find it all humorous. He wanted someone to see Tsukki as the wonder that he was. The tall blond immediately reverted back to his scowling demeanor, annoyingly knowing exactly where the conversation was going.

 

“Don’t start Yamaguchi.” He clicked his tongue, peeved.

 

“I'm just saying.”

 

“I don’t need you to play matchmaker.”

 

“I don’t do that.”

 

“Yes, you do.”

 

"No I don—" Tsukki turned to him sharply, giving him a face that said otherwise. Yamaguchi scratched the back of his head and giggled. "Fine. I do, but it's because I care."

 

“I’m a grown man, Yamaguchi. I can decide for myself.”

 

“And where has that gotten you?” He asked. Tsukki gave him a warning look. He knew it was an empty threat, but Yamaguchi appeased him. He’ll just try a softer approach.

 

"How about this: If I see you make an effort, I'll back off. Deal?"

 

The two stopped to look at each other, each sizing the other up, trying to gauge who would be the one to give in first. Tsukki must have already been really worn out by his whole dilemma, seeing as he gave in much quicker than Yamaguchi had anticipated.

 

“What did you have in mind?” the blond asked, defeated. The freckled male grinned.

 

“My work is having a mixer next month for the hospital’s anniversary. It’s going to be full of neat intellectuals and handsome doctors.”

 

“Yamaguchi,” he groaned.

 

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

"Everyone gets food poisoning and someone dies and I stain my suit. Again," he said, no bite to his words.

 

Yamaguchi could see how defensive Tsukki was with dating. But what Yamaguchi could also see that others couldn't was how tired and drained Tsukki’s lifestyle made him sometimes. He could change it if he wanted, but he always stuck to being easy and open. He reassured Yamaguchi many times about how he preferred it that way and how he was happy to go on like that, but Yamaguchi knew Tsukki better than almost anyone, and he knew that Tsukki wanted something _real._ He just looked in all the wrong places.

 

“I’m not saying find a soulmate. I’m just asking you to try for something serious. Besides, you might actually find someone decent. There are actually a few people I have in mind for you if yo—”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Really?!”

 

“Yes. Jeez.”

 

"Oh, Tsukki, thank you. You'll really enjoy it. Hitoka and I saw a few nurses who really seem your type. But rest assured they're no—"

 

“Shut up already, Yamaguchi.”

 

Yamaguchi giggled.

 

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

 

As they continued to walk along the street towards Tsukki’s apartment, Yamaguchi felt his phone vibrate. Once he saw that it was a text from his girlfriend, his heart fluttered. He bit his lower lip and quickly typed in his lockscreen code as they walked up the flight of stairs to Tsukki’s floor. When he was in front of the door, waiting for the blond to unlock it, he excitedly read her text.

 

_-Tadashi, I’m going to be a little late for dinner tonight. (#^^#)ゞ_

_Kiyoko-san wanted to see me, so she and I are going to meet up when I’m finished with my meeting._  
_Can you and Tsukki order for me, please? I’ll see you guys later._ _  
_ Thank you and I'm sorry. I love you!!

 _Give Tsukki a hug for me._ ヽ( ˘♡˘)/-

 

Yamaguchi felt his stomach drop as he read her text. Tsukki walked into his apartment, leaving the door wide open for the shorter man, but Yamaguchi didn’t move, that text swallowing up his surroundings. He just kept re-reading the text and tried to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat. When the blond noticed Yamaguchi still standing outside, he eyed him, a confused frown gracing his lips.

 

“Yamaguchi?” The shorter man snapped out of his daze. He shook his head and walked into the apartment, apologizing for zoning out so abruptly. As they hung out in his apartment making a small lunch, Yamaguchi kept feeling an itch at the back of his mind, wondering if he should confide in Tsukki. He knew he could trust him with anything, but he wasn’t sure if he should unload his problems onto his friend when Tsukki was clearly upset about his own. Yamaguchi decided that, for now, he would keep to himself.

 

Besides, Yamaguchi would have to eventually accept that there would be people who knew the two most important blondes in his life better than he did.

 

He would have to accept it, even if he didn’t like it. Even if they were toxic.

* * *

 

**Next Chapter: Conviction**

Akaashi, Daichi, Iwaizumi, Kenma, Yaku, Ushijima

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. Please don't hate me!  
> This chapter took a lot to write but it's really gotten the ball rolling.  
> Again, this chapter would have been crap without my fantastic beta! She's the best, you guys. She's so rad and has such a lovely writing style. Plus her neighborhood trees are adorable. Please leave love in form of comments and reviews. We live for them!!! Chapter 6 coming soon. 
> 
> It's gotten to the point where I have so many people who've left Kudos, Subscribed, Bookmarked, Followed, and Faved that I have to thank you together!!!! THANKYOUSOMUCH!!!!! I'm so overwhelmed and happy by all your love and praise!!
> 
> Till next time. 
> 
> ~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Kudos~
> 
> ~The Hive in June~


	6. Conviction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, there are no words…
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t think of a good reason why this took me three months. I mean, yeah, life got time consuming. Work and school have not helped. But alas, after far too long an absence, the next chapter is here. This is the longest installment as of yet, and I’m actually considering breaking some chapter up in the future (just because I end up having bubblesandwich edit a massive 30+ page chapter). I really hope you enjoy it, it was EXCRUCIATINGLY taxing. But we really enjoyed it! 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter's list of distractions that kept us from posting this sooner: my nosebleeds, her trip to China, terrible wifi, my dog destroying beautiful merchandise, getting awesome souveniers, melting laptops, roaring fires, broken replacer laptops, abuse of tabs, more anthropomorphic plants, an orchid cult, gushing about way better fics, crazy work schedules, photo spamming each other, slave editor being disappointed in us. 
> 
>  

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_Chapter 1: Certainty_

_Chapter 2: Caution_

_Chapter 3: Concessions_

_Chapter 4: Comforts_

_Chapter 5: Concurrence_

**Chapter 6: Conviction**

 

_Of principles and sentiments_

_Both personal and public_

 

 

* * *

 

**_January 25_ **

 

**Akaashi**

 

Akaashi enjoyed his lunch breaks. Lunch for him was a time to recharge in solidarity and quiet surroundings. It was a period to reflect—a daily meditation to keep himself balanced. He would often find a nice spot on the vast rooftop of his company’s building to read up on the news or check his messages leisurely as he ate. He’d enjoy homemade meals as he’d lay back against one of the comfortable benches and message Bokuto—a regular routine of his. He would wave at fellow coworkers and participate in small talk courteously while enjoying his meal, giving them small glimpses of his graceful smile and a soft whisper of his alluring voice. He’d occasionally chit-chat with Hanamaki-san over yakitori, or catch up with Yachi while she anxiously nibbled on edamame. And sometimes he would venture off on his own, grab some take-out and try some new cuisines recommended to him—one of said recommendations leading to a run-in with an elusive blond that had, once again, become a great friend to him after a long absence and the beginning of a string of weekly onigiri lunch dates. Lunch breaks had always held a soft spot in his heart, remembering his middle school days when he first saw a rambunctious volleyball player with newly dyed alabaster hair—at the center of an unfamiliar cafeteria at a new school, the ravenhead’s heart pounding and grip tightening around his lunch tray.

 

Lately, however, his meals have been left unfinished, forgotten as he now occupied himself with watching the gleam of his new ring shine against the midday sun—a soft glare bouncing off the metal and catching on the small gems. A half-eaten bento box, disposable chopsticks, and a plastic bottle of green tea laid next to his lap, all abandoned, as he spread his fingers and tilt his hand from side to side in front of him.

 

He'd eventually go back to finish his meal once his stomach protested in hunger, but he'd catch himself running his thumb over the smooth metal—subconsciously reminding himself that it was _real_. A small comfort—new, but welcomed. He allowed himself those private moments, reveling in his lost daydreams while enjoying his favorite meal. On this occasion, he was reading about a recent burglary case on his phone when his mother decided to call him about his very unplanned wedding.

 

“No mother, not a tent. Maybe a banquet hall or ballroom or something...”

 

_“Why a banquet hall? What would that be for?”_

 

“You know, for a basic ceremony and reception rooms,” he said, lightly tapping his fingernails together. He wasn't sure if she'd catch on how little he's actually started on with planning his nuptials.

 

_“Is that how most western style weddings have it?”_

 

“Yes, it’s a very popular choice.”

 

He didn’t want to end his call with his mother, but he felt scrutinized by her questioning. She meant well, but he didn’t need someone else to remind him how excruciatingly horrid the planning will be. Akaashi had always known that weddings were a headache, having gone to a few already, but he hadn’t been anticipating just how much work he would have on his shoulders. He also didn’t think he would end up being the sort of person who would procrastinate altogether and get distracted by skimming his fingers against his ring.

 

_“Ah, I see. Oh, Sweets, have you and Kotarou-kun decided on how many groomsmen you’ll have?”_

 

“Yeah, I think six each is what we decided. Why?”

 

_“Because your cousin Hideomi would be a good choice, ne?”_

 

“The alcoholic?” he asked, exasperated.

 

_“He’s not an alcoholic. He is just having a rough time.”_

 

“Mother, no. He’s a wildcard and I can’t add more unpredictability to the wedding party,” he said. He wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to handle the current wedding party as is. “We already have Bokuto and Kuroo together, which is enough of a destructive force by themselves.”

 

 _“Fine,”_ his mother huffed, _“but just keep him in mind if you need anyone else.”_

 

“I will.”

 

_“Have you decided on color themes too?”_

 

“Yes, we’re going with blue, gold, and white. There’s going to be some black and grey, too. Probably in table sets.”

 

_“Black and grey? Really? Don’t you think it’s too morbid?”_

 

“No, I’ll make sure it works well with everything,” he said, knowing full well that he didn't sound close to convincing.

 

 _“How? You’ve never planned a wedding, Keiji. Have you looked into a professional planner?”_ Akaashi had assumed he’d eventually look into it, but as of late, he and Bokuto have been trying to cut down on their expenses so they could afford a honeymoon. A vacation would be hard as is, but it would be impossible if they decided to go the wedding planner route.

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

_“Why not?”_

 

“Well, because they’re expensive.”

 

_“But they know what they’re doing, Sweets.”_

 

“I don’t think it’ll be too difficult to do it myself,” he lied. “Plus, I would have to go through the process of finding one I like.”

 

_“Well, can’t one of your groomsmen help?”_

 

That…was something that he'd be wary about. For the most part, he trusted his groomsmen (part of the reason he chose them was to help him control Bokuto's party) but he wasn't sure if they'd be up to help. Though, it was an interesting notion.

 

“Maybe. I chose them based on comradery, not really on possible wedding planning merit.”

 

He felt like he was going to lose his mind if he ended up doing everything by himself.

 

_“You could always ask Koutarou-kun, can’t you?”_

 

Bokuto, however, did offer to help, but Akaashi knew that the only thing that he would hate more than planning a wedding would be a wedding planned by his fiancé. He loved him, but he knew better than to let him run wild with their chequebook. Bokuto could be responsible, but when something caught his eye, he had no tethers to restrain him. Plus, he’d be with Kuroo, who would only goad him on.

 

“No, not Bokuto.”

 

Kuroo wasn’t any better. He’d make their wedding a huge blowout full of alcohol, scheming, and singing cats. Kenma would escape in time but the rest of the party would be free game. Bokuto would encourage his matchmaking and Lev would somehow end up inside their cake. Actually, Akaashi was _positive_ that he’d hate a wedding planned with any of Bokuto’s groomsmen.

 

Oikawa would make it gaudy and over their budget.

 

Ushijima might plan it at a barn house or somewhere in the countryside.

 

Konoha would somehow be convinced by Bokuto that whatever they'd end up getting themselves into was genius.

 

Komi would be just as bad as his fiancé.

 

Daichi seemed to be the only saving grace in that entire entourage… He felt a little bad.

 

_“Well, then get your best man to help out.”_

 

 _Oh, right_. He had forgotten all about that.

 

“I haven’t chosen one,” he admitted sheepishly.

 

_“Really? Hasn’t Koutarou-kun already picked his?”_

 

“Yes, it's Kuroo.” Akaashi hadn't really given too much thought as to who he'd pick for his best man. It was an honor, but he didn't prefer any of his friends over the others. He enjoyed all their company and were each chosen based on mutual respect and closeness. But he supposed the honor was given to those who were considered your _closest_ friends. His closest friend was Bokuto, second being Kuroo by association and constant meddling. That seemed to narrow his choices somewhat, and he also had to consider who would be an appropriate candidate to help him plan everything.

 

Washio, Onaga, and Saru all weren’t possible for the position, being as they lived further away and some were busy with their own families. Yaku was a good option, but he’d be scarce with time too.

 

Kenma and he were very close, seeing as they were part of the same collective group of friends in college and onward. However, Akaashi wasn't so confident in his ability to actually help him arrange anything. Akaashi doubted the blond would be interested in all the labor associated with planning a wedding, it would feel like too much of a chore for him. It just didn't seem like his strong suit. Plus, as far as he’s come with his social anxiety, standing in front of a large room of people staring may overwhelm the small blond. He needed someone who would help him and be enjoyable company…which really narrowed down his choices to one person.

 

He was so caught up in his musings that he forgot that his mother was still on the phone with him.

 

 _“...suppose they can help,”_ she rambled on.

 

“Hmm? Sorry mother, I didn’t catch that.”

 

_“Koutarou-kun has siblings, doesn't he?”_

 

Oh, _right._

 

 _“I said that they could help. He has sisters”_ —he had almost completely forgotten— _“and I’m sure they’d love to feel included. Girls love planning things like that.”_

 

In all his musings and distractions during these past few weeks, he had been diligently mindful of avoiding the subject of his fiancé’s family.

 

“Oh...no. He can’t ask them,” he whispered, feeling resentment creeping into his voice.

 

_“What? Why not?”_

 

“Because only his eldest brother is coming to the wedding.” There was a pregnant pause on the other line. He figured his mother didn’t really understand what he was saying.

 

 _“Out of all his siblings?”_ she asked. He felt a feeling of melancholy overtake him.

 

“No, the rest of his family isn’t coming.”

 

“What? _Not even his parents?”_

 

“No, not even his parents.” Since the very beginning, Akaashi’s family had always been supportive of his and Bokuto’s relationship. Akaashi was thankful that at least they had their blessing from a young age. However, being so young and naive, he didn’t expect the daunting reality that not all families were so accepting of relationships that were of their nature.

 

_“Oh, poor dear. You would think that after so many years…”_

 

Akaashi was even more shocked by Bokuto’s family and their views on the youngest child’s choices. Akaashi had always assumed that the Bokuto household was as welcoming and free-spirited as the peppered-hair boy who had stolen his heart. It came as an incredulous surprise to Akaashi that he had been so very wrong in assuming that just because his boyfriend was so open with his affection for him, his family would have also been accepting and approving of them. He was quickly enlightened on just how wrong he was.

 

_“It’s a sin, Koutarou!”_

 

_“That boy—did that boy convince you to do this!?”_

 

_“Kou, it just isn’t right!”_

 

_“No, Koutarou. You can’t love him. I won’t allow it.”_

 

Like venom, their words and conclusions seeped into Akaashi’s heart, making him question if he and the boy he loved were making a mistake. But Bokuto…

 

_“I don’t care if it’s wrong.”_

 

_“He didn’t do anything. Please, just understand—I love him.”_

 

_“Don’t you want me to be happy?”_

 

_“I choose him.”_

He never faltered.

 

Years passed, but nothing changed. His lover’s family still saw the youngest of their family as tainted, corrupted by perversion and crude feelings. They still saw Akaashi as vermin, seducing one of their own into a relationship of shame. Years passed, and Bokuto still stuck by him—chose him over his own.

 

Still, during the decade of growing adjusted to the fact that his other half’s family objected to the idea—the _fact—_ of having a gay son, Akaashi still hoped that they would eventually come around and learn to accept their son’s sexuality.

 

“I think his dad was hoping that the past ten years were a rebellious phase or something.”

 

_“But it’s not a phase. Surely they see that, no?”_

 

“Yes, that’s the problem for them. It’s now apparent since we’re engaged. They can’t necessarily pretend.”

 

Akaashi somehow made their youngest family member happy, but apparently, it was too much to ask for the approval of the entire Bokuto clan.

 

_“Well, maybe they’ll open up the closer we get to the wedding.”_

 

“I doubt it.”

 

 _“You know what, I should give them a call,”_ she suggested eagerly. He felt as though she would take it upon herself to lecture their ears off. _“Besides, they've refused to meet your father and me all these years and I could really give them a piece of my mind.”_

 

“That might end up being counterproductive.”

 

_“I don’t know, Keiji. I am rather persuasive.”_

 

“Thank you mother, but I don’t think they’ll change their minds,” he said solemnly.

 

_“Well...what about the rest of his siblings?”_

 

“They all refused, too. One of his sisters even attempted to scold him.”

 

_“Scold him for what?”_

 

“For proposing to me.”

 

 _“... Keiji, give me their home number._ Right now.”

 

“No, it’s… It’s fine. Bokuto says he doesn’t mind.”

 

_“And you believe him?”_

 

Bokuto was one to be easily dejected and get down on himself, but he seemed to be taking all the news about his family in stride. He seemed to brush all the negative opinions about his sexuality off his shoulders. And that told Akaashi all he needed to know.

 

“No, I don’t. I know he wants them there, but he doesn’t want to admit it. I think he just doesn’t want to talk about it.”

 

 _“Well, I suppose… You tell Koutarou-kun that he could always talk to me. He’s family now too.”_ The ravenhead smiled warmly. The matriarch of the Akaashi household treated Bokuto as if he was one of her own. He went to all the parties and holiday dinners. They took vacations together as a family. It was almost like his parents adopted another child—an affectionate, lovable bundle of energy that would let the female Akaashi coddle him and the senior Akaashi male praise him. Akaashi was happy that his fiancé had something close to a warm welcoming family with his in-laws.

 

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. And I’m hoping the wedding will be distracting enough for him. Even if he can be overzealous.”

 

 _“True. I hope he doesn’t go into, you know, one of his_ moods. _I just wished he had someone.”_

 

“It's okay. He has me. I'll keep an eye on him,” he said. Then he thought about how Bokuto had more than one person watching his back through all the ups and downs. “And Kuroo too. They'll find a way to have fun getting in trouble.” Even though Kuroo was by all accounts a pain in the ass, Akaashi appreciated his company. Plus, Bokuto had someone else who loved him as fiercely as he.

 

_“Alright. You know I’m here for you—the both of you, right?”_

 

“Yes, mother. I know.”

 

_“Okay. I love you Keiji. I’ll talk to you later.”_

 

“Bye mother.”

 

Though she could be overbearing, she meant well. And she did have valid points.

 

With only five minutes left to his lunch, he made his way back to his office and thought about what his mother had said about his best man. He had narrowed down to one blond in particular and messaged him through text, asking if he could call him after work. Maybe he and Tsukishima could hate planning the wedding together. The only problem would be the blond’s uncertain feelings for the other best man, but Akaashi wasn’t worried. He would jump that hurdle another time.

 

As Akaashi went back to his desk, he stuffed his half eaten lunch into his bag and began typing out a memo that needed to be done yesterday. All the while, he caught himself once again glancing at the glint of his ring, shining back at him. He grazed his thumb over the smooth metal gently, the highlight bouncing off his eyes when he caught the light just right. He marveled at his ring, at how easily he lost track of time watching himself bend the light against it, at how set he was in his conviction to marry the man of his dreams. It felt like it was always meant to be.

  


**Daichi**

  


Daichi wouldn't really consider himself uncultured, but he had zero clue as to what he was doing when it came to picking out wines. In preparation for their date night tomorrow, the shopping cart Daichi had been lazily pushing with one hand was half full with different assortments of vegetables and cooking oils for his and Suga's ventures in sweetbreads. He had capers, watermelon radishes, wild mushrooms, and some decadent pieces of offal wrapped in prime butcher paper waiting to be consumed. The strapping brunet was standing before a variety of fine wines and spirits trying to decide which would pair well with the meal and cheese choices they decided on. He texted Suga asking which one he preferred, seeing as how lost he was.

 

Sometimes, he didn't have a clue when it came to the _finer things._ Before Suga, he never ventured off from what he was comfortable or familiar with. He was content with his family's normal recipes and his country boy ways. He was dandy being ordinary and mundane. It wasn't until after they’d gotten together that Daichi figured he should step up his game. After all, he didn't want his fair-haired husband to get bored of him—he wouldn’t have any trouble replacing the brunet.

 

Daichi wasn't an idiot, he was fully aware of how people looked at his partner. Suga, with his porcelain skin and kind eyes, soft tresses and gentle voice—has been on the receiving end of blushing cheeks and heart-shaped eyes since their first year of high school. He was a vision. He would sit quietly and people would naturally shift their gazes to his tender disposition and easy poise, completely enraptured by his pleasant demeanor. Daichi wasn't an idiot, so the moment he came to terms with his feelings, he wasted no time in confessing before anyone else could. That was a decade ago.

 

He finally felt the back of his pants vibrate lightly, receiving a text back from his poised husband telling him to go with a Pinot. He slid his phone back into his back pocket, grabbed a smooth red wine with a romantic label and placed it into the cart.

 

As he went to look for some tissue boxes, he passed by the card aisle—one long avenue of colored stock paper and fancy envelopes. A few feet away from him, an older woman was deciding between two extravagant cards, both with a beautiful design and adorned with intricately woven golden knots that held a soft sheen. They were cards for a wedding.

 

Daichi remembered only a few years ago being on the receiving end of those cards, filled with best wishes and crisp cash bills. It was an incredible time. He remembered always smiling—from the moment he slid that engagement ring on his husband-to-be’s finger, to the drive home after the ceremony. He ate, he danced, he laughed, he smiled—finally knowing what the finer things truly meant with Suga by his side.

 

He decided to turn into the aisle and stroll, looking over some of the wedding card choices. He figured he could start to look some over for Bokuto and Akaashi’s own nuptial. If he were honest, he’d admit that he had always thought he would've been wedding card shopping for them much _much_ earlier than now.

 

Each couple has their own pace, but he thought that those two would have tied the knot a long time ago, always together and seemingly happy with each other. He understood why they may have taken their time to commit—many other variables can get in the way of finally being able to wed—but he’s glad he didn’t wait too long before marrying Suga.

 

Their wedding was sweet and simple, a small, western-style celebration in Miyagi with all their family and friends. Though it was considerably moderate in number of attendees, the rambunctious guest made their wedding a party to remember. He loved his wedding, he loved his friends. He loved his husband, but sometimes his home life felt routine after their honeymoon phase from their wedding. He wasn't sure if it was basic patterns of a married life or if he maybe wanted something more. He wanted to solidify their life together. He wanted a family.

 

Before he realized where he was going, he had ended up walking down an aisle full of diapers, bottles, and baby formula.

 

He looked around the surprisingly empty aisle, wondering if he’d ever stroll through this section, texting Suga about which wipes were best and if he should get a different scented lotion, all while leisurely pushing a cart seating a securely-latched bundle of joy.

 

A bundle of joy with fine, soft, fair hair.

 

If he was being honest, Daichi would admit that he’s been thinking about children for a while now. For roughly a year—ever since he had been talking to Suga's mother and she _casually_ brought it up. The idea has been constantly floating around in his head ever since.

 

Everywhere he looked, he saw babies.

 

Baby clothes, baby bags, mothers at school with their baby strollers and baby wrap carriers. He saw babies on his way to work, crying in the next car over while his parent tried to sooth them. He saw babies during parent teacher conferences when one of his students’ parents brought their youngest to their meetings, sleeping soundly as the adults talked. He saw babies in the grocery store, playing with a rattle in the kid's seat of the shopping cart, their mothers making their way down the aisle to find diapers. Daichi finds himself staring from a distance, wondering if he'd ever be able to have a child of his own. Suddenly, moving back home to Miyagi didn’t seem so bad. And that way, they would have more room for a kid.

 

Or six.

 

He and Suga had never discussed children before since it wasn’t possible for them to have a child naturally. They never discussed surrogacy or adoption either, but ever since Suga’s mother brought it up, Daichi couldn’t stop imagining himself a stern but kind father, with children holding onto his hands as he swung them in circles, warm loud laughter erupting into the air. He couldn’t stop picturing a house with friendly neighbors, their kids playing together during summer break. He couldn’t stop smiling when he thought of his _kind, sweet_ husband rocking a child to sleep with the most magnetic, gentle smile, his hazel eyes blinking slowly at their infant.

 

He wouldn’t want to pressure Suga with a big family, but he never thought himself as a patient sort of man. Keeping his desires to himself for a year now was starting to get to him. Daichi figured he could bring it up tomorrow over the Pinot sitting in his cart and the tender giblets resting beside it. He walked along, strolling past a drooling child and grinned. He was settled, he was determined, and now, he was ready. He was ready for the finer things in life.

 

He hoped Suga was too.

 

 

**_January 28_ **

 

**Iwaizumi**

  
  


He tried to be somewhat late to Makki’s birthday gathering, figuring that way he would arrive at around the same time as Oikawa, who always arrived _fashionably late._ He slowed his steps to an easy and leisurely pace as he walked from the train station to the izakaya restaurant he and his old teammates were meeting at. He pulled his chin further into his wool scarf, hands stuffed into his coat pockets in attempts to fight the winter chill. Even in the frosty air, he was at ease. His mood had been light during the past few weeks.

 

However, the lack of urgency left Iwaizumi time to ponder on other things—things like how odd his best friend had been acting lately. There seemed to be something bothering Oikawa, judging from how on edge he was during their lunch a few days ago.

 

As much as Iwaizumi wanted to bug and pester Oikawa into revealing what was wrong, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

 

He had a hunch that—given his strange attitude and demeanor—Oikawa was acting strangely because of the specific time of year: the anniversary of their breakup.

 

It was at around this particular time of year that Iwaizumi was irrefutably nicer to his obnoxious and overbearing best friend. They hung out more and were almost attached at the hip during group outings. Iwaizumi would indulge Oikawa by making fun of Ushiwaka for the setter’s entertainment and would patiently deal with all the selfies he would insist on taking.

 

But since the year began, Oikawa had been _quiet._ He’d been less insufferable and vexatious. He hadn’t talked over others as much as usual; hadn’t gloated about the magazines that ask for him on their covers; and hadn’t boasted about his good looks at the start, the end, and the middle of every conversation. He didn’t seem to laugh at or even care for the jokes Iwaizumi made at the expense of his burly roommate.

 

To say Iwaizumi was wary was an understatement. There had been many times in the past when Oikawa would exhibit the same sort of behavior, and as tempting as it would be to accept, the male really hoped that the cause wasn't because Oikawa was planning on confessing to him. Again.

 

 

Iwaizumi was worried. He didn't want the good ambiance between them to dissipate again because of another painful rejection on his part. The flash of Tooru’s broken expression before he retreats back to his smiling mask, the strained and fragile banter desperately trying to regain normalcy—knowing his words, speaking so contrary to his real feelings—would be the cause of that recovery period of fake smiles and hidden sighs always sent waves of dread and frustration through his very core. It was something he desperately wanted to avoid.

 

But still, he scoffed, reminding himself to keep his ego in check. When had he become so conceited to the point where he began to think everything Oikawa did revolved around himself? There's no knowing the real cause until his best friend decides to open up about it. The male picked up his pace, hoping to produce some more body heat underneath his warm layers. Regardless of the reason, Iwaizumi would get to the bottom of it.

 

The sun had started making its descent towards the horizon when Iwaizumi finally arrived at the group celebration, loud voices and shrill laughter already audible from outside the establishment. Chuckling to himself, Iwaizumi slowly unwound his scarf as he made his way to the private room located at the back of the restaurant, the shameless whoops and laughs growing louder with every advancing step. The moment he passed through the doors, he immediately caught the gaze of an incredibly intoxicated birthday boy. Rosey cheeks and a childish birthday cap topped with a comical fuzz ball on his short, light hair, Takahiro Hanamaki climbed off his boyfriend's lap and poorly stumbled his way towards the bulky brunet.

 

“O _shiiit—_ waddup!!” Makki all but yelled as he attempted to tackle Iwaizumi with a hug. The latter kept his footing, strong enough to hold both himself and his drunken friend up as he continued to try to nudge him off balance. It seemed that their amusing display drew the attention of the rest of the gathering as he heard welcoming greetings and hellos from his old teammates.

 

“Hey, man. Happy late birthday,” Iwaizumi said, a warm smile on his lips as he watched his friend continue to cling onto him like a koala.

 

“ _That's riiiiight!_ Where’s muh present?” Makki slurred, a crooked pout on his lips. Iwazumi smirked and caught a glimpse of the tallest member of their usual group approaching them.

 

Mattsun patted Iwaizumi on the shoulder. “Thought you’d be here earlier,” the ravenhead said, taking hold of his boyfriend. Makki immediately draped himself over Mattsun, snaking his arms around his neck like a boa constrictor.

 

“He gave it to me earlier,” Mattsun assured his ginger boyfriend. He wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. “It’s waiting for you at home.”

 

 _“Yaaaaaaas_. Great, well, Iwaizumi, take a seat, grab a drink, and eat up,” Makki drawled, turning back and motioning him to the table. “Oh, but,” he looked at him with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face before sitting down. “You’ll have to wait a little longer for your man, though. Seems like he’s running late too.”

 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. He, of course, knew who the birthday boy was talking about— _everyone_ knew who he was talking about. And as much as he pretended to be annoyed by it, constantly being seen as a set with his idiot best friend felt right. He never felt more himself when he was with the taller male, be it reprimanding him for something idiotic he had done or unconsciously looking out for him when they hung out. But even then—while a set, they weren't a _couple._ This fact was hard on the both of them, and yet, there still were many moments when they didn’t feel the constant need to be at each other's sides—they could be out with a large group or at a party and would naturally end up sitting with different people, apart from one another, countless tables and chairs and people separating them. These times served as a reminder to their friends and family that the two of them weren't _together_ in that sense. Oikawa would be flirting with someone and Iwaizumi would be part of some debate. During those moments, the teasing would stop.

 

However, others never saw the brief moments apart from the mingling and the distance. They didn't see their gazes locking across a room of bodies—clarity amongst the hazy surroundings and slowing time. He would look at his friend—a warm, _real_ smile framed by the gleam in his copper eyes. Only he would be in focus across a room of blurred masses. Only _he_ would stay in focus for as long as Iwaizumi could remember. They were brief but also treasured moments that Iwaizumi always kept to himself. He would reimagine them in private, lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, finger strumming against his sheets trying to recreate the pounding of his heartbeat. On his train ride from work, daydreaming while standing in a jam-packed train car, his fist tightly clenched around the rails above his head. When he's lounging in the nurse's station, feet sore but an involuntary smile would still spread across his face. He thought of those moments when he was homesick. Missing family, missing home, missing _him._ Even when the amber-eyed setter wasn’t around, he’d catch himself looking for those large orbs to return his gaze.

 

Those moments were private—just for the two of them. No one else could interfere, regardless of their teasing.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Makki and Mattsun mutter in unison. After greeting the rest of the party, Iwaizumi took a seat next to a rather agitated-looking Kyoutani, who was slowly sipping on a bottle of beer. Before he could further speculate the reason for his junior’s demeanor, he heard an attractive laugh erupting from the other end of the table. Iwaizumi sighed, immediately understanding. Kyoutani must not have been too keen on being near Yahaba, with the wounds of their ‘ _incredibly scandalous’_ breakup still so fresh. He understood better than most how hard it is to be around a setter ex-boyfriend mere _days_ after the end of their relationship.

 

Giving the waiter his order, Iwaizumi shifted his attention back to the brooding punk.

 

“You know, you can't just sit like that all night,” he softly chided, placing a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder. He jerked his head towards the birthday boy. “You're just asking for Makki and Mattsun to gang up and tease you mercilessly.”

 

“I'm fine,” the blond growled, glaring straight into the bottle fitted between his whitening knuckles. Iwaizumi watched as they tightened, the sound of his ex's laughter growing at the other end of the table.

 

“Don’t snub me, Kyoutani.” The younger man’s brows furrowed further. Once Iwaizumi’s beer arrived, he clinked his bottle against Kyoutani’s and he took a swig.

 

“I said I'm _fine,”_ the blond grumbled, taking a slower sip of his drink. Iwaizumi was glad for that at least—he knew full well how many irrational decisions can be made while tipsy and in the presence of your ex. In many ways, Kyoutani reminded Iwaizumi of himself. They both were straightforward to a fault, athletically able, and possessed a bad temper. It seemed, however, that over the years, only Iwaizumi had honed some composure and learned patience. He watched as the younger man, still sporting his signature blond buzz cut, grew more agitated whenever he heard Yahaba having a congenial time without him. They were isolated from the rest of the group, the rest having their own boisterous conversations amongst each other.

 

“You don’t seem fine,” Iwaizumi challenged, examining him carefully. The blond clicked his tongue, curling more into himself as he attempted to hide from the older male’s prying eyes.

 

“Don’t you have someone else to lecture?” he sassed. The older man sighed, combing his strong fingers through his hair. It seemed that the blond was adamant on keeping quiet so he figured that he’d just give him some space for the time being. He decided to answer his question for the hell of it though before he'd turn his attention elsewhere.

 

“Nope, Oikawa isn’t here yet.” He scanned the room again, just in case the taller man had arrived while he was speaking with Kyoutani. Of course, Iwaizumi doubted he would be able to miss the setter’s arrival. No matter how mild he's been acting lately, Trashykawa’s entrances have always been grandiose and distracting. He was looking over the drinks table when he heard the younger man scoff.

 

 _“Right,”_ Kyoutani said coldly. Iwaizumi faced him fully again, completely caught off guard by his attitude. Kyoutani noticed and turned to meet his confused, defensive gaze.

 

“What’s with that?” Iwaizumi asked, eyes narrowing.

 

“What?” he replied dumbly.

 

“Why’d you say it like that?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like Oikawa did you wrong, Kyoutani.” Iwaizumi saw the clench in the blond’s jaw. A strained beat of silence followed, eyes boring straight into the other’s, challenging.

 

At first, the younger man stubbornly refused to break from his gaze, testing his former senpai's shrinking patience. Iwaizumi felt Kyoutani’s resolve fade the longer he pressed the latter to concede—he had always been the one to come out triumphant in their competitive skirmishes. He knew Kyoutani understood that whatever he was withholding from him would eventually come to light. Makki and Mattsun were the two most intrusive people Iwaizumi had ever befriended. They have always had the irritating, uncanny ability to find peoples’ black holes filled with secrets—they’d pick up on information by observing the subtle inflections and nuances and spread it faster than the fleas on a dog. What wasn’t said now would be out by the end of the night.

 

“Shit, look. I didn’t mean to offend your boyfriend—”

 

“Not my boyfriend.”

 

 _“Right_ , whatever.” He paused, briefly tilting his chin as he rose his hands in front of him defensively. “It..It’s just that…” Kyoutani’s gaze fell back to the drink on his coaster, obviously trying to avoid looking in Iwaizumi’s direction. After another tense pause, he sighed and made a brushing motion with his hands.

 

“Nah, fuck it.” He shook his head and reached for his drink. “It’s nothing. Never mind,” he muttered and drained his beer, tilting it high and finishing the bottle. The blond waved the empty beer bottle towards the waiter to get another, physically turning away from Iwaizumi and his scrutinizing gaze. He was adamant on staying quiet, and normally, Iwaizumi would have respected that and dropped the topic. But in this case, he wouldn't be able to, not with the subject in question. When it came to the illustrious Oikawa, Iwaizumi couldn't just leave it be.

 

“How about you tell me what you meant,” he said, his tone no longer questioning but blatantly demanding. Kyoutani shifted uncomfortably, small beads of sweat forming.

 

 _“Fine.”_ He seethed, glaring in the direction behind Iwaizumi, accidentally catching _someone’s_ gaze before quickly looking back to his fists.

 

“...It’s just that apparently some guy Oikawa is _actually_ dating knows one of the nutritionists that work with Shigeru. When he heard that he and I broke up from Oikawa, he passed that on to Shigeru’s coworker and,” he struggled out a sigh, “and apparently that guy was interested and they've been on a few dates already.” He sighed again, keeping his eyes fixed on his hands.

 

Before Iwazumi could even finish processing what the blond had said, Kyoutani shook his head again, an apologetic look on his face.

 

“Look, I know it's not Oikawa's fault or anything.” He pursed his lips. “It's just, you know, I guess I feel kinda forsaken so I think of him, like, guilty by association is all,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “It's just me and Shigeru didn't leave off on the best of terms and I can't help feeling like a schmuck, I gues—”

 

 _“What.”_ Kyoutani turned at the sudden, interrupting response and was greeted with a rare sight—a confused Iwaizumi.

 

“What?” he echoed, looking worried that he had offended the older man.

 

“What...did you just say?”

 

“Uh, which part?”

 

“The Oikawa part.”

 

“That I know he’s not to blame…”

 

“No. The part you said—”

 

 _“Party’s here!!”_ Iwaizumi turned towards the source of the voice and saw a boisterous Oikawa, buried in layers upon layers of warm clothing at the private room entrance. He was holding his arms wide open and holding his head high, always looking like he was posing for a photo. Makki and his boyfriend immediately rang their voices high in greeting, filling the room with a resounding squeal. _“So_ sorry I’m late,” Oikawa lied, “but looking this good takes time.”

 

The couple got up and greeted the striking setter with strong embraces as others also got up to greet the ex-captain. However, before Kyoutani could stand up from his seat to do the same, he was quickly pushed back down.

 

“Yo! The fuc—”

 

“What do you mean _dating?”_ Iwaizumi growled lowly.

 

“I-I don’t know. Just, one of my personal training friends who works with Shigeru told me that he’s seen Oikawa with some guy before. _A lot_. And like, intimately, I guess…”

 

“What do you mean 'intimately’?”

 

“Man, I don't know!” he huffed, bristling at Iwaizumi’s accusing tone. “It’s just what I was told, okay?” Without waiting for a response, the blond got up and made his way to greet the flamboyant brunet, leaving Iwaizumi alone at the table.

 

Iwaizumi looked on as the ruffian gave a clipped greeting to his best friend at the other end of the room, unsure of what to make of Kyoutani’s words. He realized that he had gotten angry at something that was nothing more than a simple assumption. But assumption or not, if it actually happened to be true, all of Oikawa's recent nervousness and uneasiness made sense.

 

He was dating again. He always behaved oddly when he was dating. Iwaizumi should have picked up on that much earlier—before this party, even. Instead, he viciously interrogated poor Kyoutani, who already had his own world of problems to deal with. Iwaizumi’s plan to apologize to the blond, however, were shoved further to the back of his mind the more he thought about Oikawa.

 

They never dated around this time of year.

 

Never.

 

“So rude, Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi blinked, suddenly embarrassed for zoning out. He blinked again, eyes finally focusing on Oikawa standing a few feet in front of him, tilting his head to the side with a smirk painted on his handsome face.

 

The shorter man swallowed hard, resisting his first instinct to hit the brunet.

 

Of course he was dating. That much was now entirely obvious. And normally, Iwaizumi would take it in stride, knowing that they couldn't stop each other from experimenting. And even though the taller brunet broke their silent agreement to date during the period of time Iwaizumi went out of his way to be kind, Iwaizumi couldn't fault him for that.

 

However, that still didn’t explain why he would be dating someone long enough for someone like Kyoutani to find out about. Figuring that it had to be just stupid gossip floating around, Iwaizumi shook his head.

 

“You didn’t come to greet me like everyone else, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa pouted childishly. Iwaizumi kept his composure and greeted him as he always did: with backhanded comments.

 

“That’s because I’m not beckoned like a stooge, Shittykawa.” Before Oikawa could throw in his own witty remark, they heard a loud groan from the other end of the table.

 

“Jesus! He just walked in and you guys are already flirting!!” Makki belted, swinging his body slightly as he anchored himself to his boyfriend who held his waist, lest he falls off him. Naturally, Oikawa chose to play along with the cattiness. Iwaizumi, however, took the moment to wave down the waiter and order some sake.

 

“Can you blame him?” Oikawa practically sang. He laughed along with the rest of the table, sauntering away from the swole doctor and made his way to sit next to Yahaba and Kumini, continuing his endless showboating from a distance. Iwaizumi drank alone, skin crawling the longer the night went on. After a handful of drinks, Iwaizumi had rolled his eyes so much that everything was starting to look fuzzy.

 

Kyoutani was still sitting beside him as the evening continued, the sun finally giving way to moonlight. Though most of the get-together stayed mellow, there were still a handful of guests that were beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol being passed around, faces red and speech slurring. Iwaizumi lost count of all the drinks he had, but he recalls at some point watching the blond beside him keeping up with his pace. Throughout the festivities, he hears Oikawa in the background, his pleasing laugh echoing through the room. Attention all on him—as usual. He heard Yahaba's laugh here and there too, Kyoutani's glazed eyes darting his direction once in awhile.

 

And try as he may, he couldn’t stop himself from occasionally beating himself up for getting so riled up at the thought of Oikawa dating someone seriously. It was a ridiculous thought. Besides, he knew better than anyone that Oikawa only ever had his eyes set on one person.

 

“Kageyama Tobio!?”

 

Suddenly, Makki’s intoxicated voice boomed throughout the room, shifting all eyes to him. He was currently pointing his index finger to Oikawa in an accusing manner.

 

“What?” Oikawa replied. Everyone else was lost to what the ginger was saying, his demeanor indicating something along the lines of prying.

 

“That’s who you’re fucking, isn’t it?!”

 

 _“Tobio??_ God no. No amount of power or wealth would ever be enough for that to ever happen,” Oikawa said.

 

“Then who is it, hmmm?” Makki counters, aggressively trying to get Oikawa to spill. Iwaizumi usually wasn't interested in the tomfoolery his friends were always debating about, but when he looked over to catch his best friend's gaze, he saw a steady blush dust his cheeks as he bashfully looked down at his hands. Iwaizumi felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his stomach drop.

 

“Is it a teammate?” Makki prodded. Iwaizumi watched as Oikawa's Adam's apple bobbed and licked his lips. All at once, what Kyoutani had said earlier resurfaced to Iwaizumi's mind, and he wondered if Oikawa would ever really be able to keep that sort of secret from him. He felt his blood start to simmer.

 

“Um,” Oikawa started, “Actually, I’ve been meani—”

 

“Please, for the love of god, just tell us that you and Iwaizumi have finally gotten together!” Mattsun interrupted, his exasperated plea earning a few nods and vociferous applause amongst their friends. It was a very popular request amongst the group. Somehow, Oikawa had turned even more bashful. Iwaizumi, knowing him better than most, could tell that his best friend was also trying his hardest not to look at his direction either.

 

And his blood boiled, as his filter evaporated.

 

“Thing is,” he started, smile strained, yet genuine. He took a steady breath, “There is something. Me and Ush—”

 

“Oikawa and I are old news, Mattsun,” Iwaizumi drawled, loud enough to be heard over everyone in the room. “Besides,” he started, irked that his best friend had yet to look up at him. Oikawa had gone pale, his eyes still fixed on his hands. _Well, that won't do_ , Iwaizumi thought. “Who’d go for selfish, needy, primadonnas, right? _Again?_ It’s a bit... what’s the saying...”

 

“ _Been there done that_.”

 

The table erupts with _‘ooh'_ s and raucous laughter, Makki screaming and applauding Iwaizumi's roast. He even heard Kyoutani snicker at his jeer. He chuckled himself, alcohol and the normal ridiculing of his best friend making him more relaxed since Oikawa had shown up. Mattsun was bouncing on his seat, fist in his teeth as he tried to hold himself back from being a hype man, his boyfriend now choosing to jog to Iwaizumi and shake him, still screaming. Yahaba and Kindaichi both had hands covering their mouth, shocked of what had just transpired. The rest were in either fits of aggrandizing or chuckling. Iwaizumi felt the tension from earlier leave his shoulders.

 

Then he looked at Oikawa.

 

In the time he's known him, Iwaizumi had seen many expressions on his childhood friend's face: his expression when he hit his jump serves just right, when he mercilessly teased his friends, when he silently analyzed his opponents' playing styles.

 

Rejecting Oikawa had always been something he never could simply grow _numb_ to because it caused his best friend to wear the look he hated the most. The flash of Tooru’s broken expression before he retreats back to his smiling mask, the strained and fragile banter desperately trying to regain normalcy—knowing his words, speaking so contrary to his real feelings—would be the cause of that recovery period of fake smiles and hidden sighs always sent waves of dread and frustration through his very core. Rejecting Oikawa was something he desperately wanted to avoid.

 

But it was always fixable—their relationship—because he never went too far with his words, he never rubbed salt on open wounds, he never—

 

Iwaizumi immediately froze, their eyes locking into each other as their surroundings grew hazy.

 

—he never shut down the possibility of them being together in the future.

 

Oikawa looked away as a forced smile graced his handsome face.

 

After the laughter died down, Oikawa, who was chuckling at his own expense, coughed to get everyone’s attention back to him.

 

“Um, haha, right. But really, though—I, um, I was just gonna say that...I...I actually can't stay any longer,” he said, rubbing his hands on his knees.

 

“What? No, you have to! It's my birthdaaay!” Makki whined on top Mattsun’s lap. Others fed off his complaint, trying to urge Oikawa to stay longer.

 

“Your birthday was yesterday, Makki-chan! Plus I can’t stay. I have practice tomorrow. Bright and early so…” He gave a quick look to Iwaizumi, who still was dazed at what he had just done. “I’m heading out.”

 

The next few minutes were filled with the handsome brunet giving his farewells to everyone. He grabbed his layers, placing them on as he made his way around the room. Once he got to the end of the table, Iwaizumi could see his smile more strained than ever.

 

“Kyouken-chan, I’ll see you later!” he chimed, giving the younger man wink and sticking out his tongue.

 

“Oh,” Kyoutani mumbled, feeling awkward at the attention. Oikawa then looked at his best friend, who was still filled with remorse. Oikawa gave him one of his fake smiles—the ones that Iwaizumi hated. The ones he never gave them this time of year.

 

“I’ll talk to you later, Iwa-cha—”

 

“No,” he interrupted, making the taller man freeze, “I’ll walk you out.” He quickly grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and pulled it on before his friend could refuse. Oikawa eyed him, apprehensive, fake smile still intact.

 

“Oh, okay.” He turned to leave, knowing Iwaizumi would follow. “Bye, everybody~” he sang as he waved to the room. He gave Makki one last birthday hug before he and Iwaizumi walked out. The moon was out and the wind had died down, but there was still a chill in the air. They looked up to the crescent ray of light, serene and pleasant as Iwaizumi felt turmoil inside himself.

 

“Listen Oikawa, what I said, I was jo—”

 

“No, it’s okay. Really,” Oikawa tried to reassure.

 

“No, it was tasteless.” Iwaizumi knew that. He had somehow let his insecurities get the better of him and hit below the belt. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. But Oikawa always let Iwaizumi get away with his wrongdoings. “I'm… I'm sorry.”

 

“It's fine, Iwa-chan,” he said, his voice sounding defeated. “Really, it was my fault”—he paused—“I was being a coward. Guess it's just karma...” His words confused the shorter man, the meaning completely lost to him. Was it because he was just too drunk to pick up on it, or because he was too stubborn to see?

 

“Besides, it was…illuminating.”

 

Iwaizumi felt the words sink in, realizing that he had just pushed Oikawa further away. Pushed him away with words that couldn't have been further from the truth.

 

“Oikawa—”

 

“My taxi's here.” The taller male quickly gestured to the vehicle pulling up a few meters ahead of them. He turned to give him a brief smile and made his way to the car, his voice and steps light. “I'll see you soon, Iwa-chan.”

 

Iwaizumi watched him get into the back of a cab, pointedly looking in anywhere but his direction. The car sped off into the distance, leaving Iwaizumi with nothing but the chill in the air and the heavy silence.

 

Iwaizumi was lost on what he should do, on what just happened. How long had it been since Oikawa avoided his best friend’s gaze?

  


**Kenma**

  


Kenma had taken a box cutter from his new kitchen counter and ripped open a cardboard box filled with newspaper-wrapped plates and dishes when he heard the loud grunts of Kuro and Bokuto bringing in the last of his boxes. Even though Kenma didn’t have a whole lot of things, it was still a substantial amount that called for some extra hands. Yaku and Lev showed up with coffee and duct tape, and once they had arrived at Kenma’s new fourth-floor walkup, Lev, Kuro, and Bokuto volunteered to bring all the boxes and furniture up themselves leaving he, Yaku, and Akaashi to organize and unpack. They had started before noon and had finally gotten everything out of the moving truck before Kenma was overcharged. Yaku and Lev offered to drop off the vehicle with Akaashi and said they’d pick up pizza on the way back.

 

Today had been both tiring and therapeutic for the small blond. All the sorting, mindless unpacking, and continuous climbing of stairs gave him little time to think about Shouyou. He had little time to be upset and confused. He had little time to let his mind wander back to the fact that he hadn't seen his boyfriend in almost a week. The only reminder was the obvious bruise on Kenma's face, the last goodbye from his old apartment after their fight. It had raised alarms from Akaashi and Bokuto earlier, Lev being completely obtuse on how to ask politely if he fell. Kuro had almost lost his temper when he first saw his face, asking if that's why Shouyou wasn't there today. After Kenma embarrassingly told him how he fell in his kitchen he seemed to relax, only slightly.

 

Constantly receiving text and missed calls from his ginger lover was making ignoring him difficult on his part. Whenever they argued or had harsh fights, Kenma would always calm down after some space apart. The longest he'd ever been mad at Shouyou was three days. Going an entire week without speaking to him brought on new stress that Kenma wasn't used to. And if the constantly worried stares from Kuro and the concerned glances from Yaku and Akaashi were any indication, all his anxiety must have been showing. Kenma couldn't help look down enough for wisps of hair to hide his face more as he continued to unwrap dishes.

 

No one besides himself knew about their fight, but the fact that his boyfriend wasn't here raised red flags. He could tell his oldest friend had quickly caught on to his situation, seeing as how only Kenma's things were present and nothing belonged to the younger redhead. He could also tell that Akaashi had caught on, figuring it was best to avoid the topic. Yaku had wanted to ask when he first came but being aware of how the blond was acting and clearly trying to avoid talking about his boyfriend, he steered clear as well. His only worry was that either Bokuto or Lev would say something stupid. But seeing as the entire day had passed by without any awkward questions, Kenma felt comfortable in thinking it wasn't going to be brought up. Hopefully.

 

“Need help?” He looked up to see Kuro, bed hair worse than usual. Even going through the suspense of where his relationship was going, Kenma still kept his eyes open, calculating. Kenma had puffy eyes and hadn't washed his hair for a few days, but Kuro looked worse off for some reason. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, bags under his eyes mauve and sunken. The older man's shoulders were stiff as his posture hunched forward. And if Kenma were anyone else, he would hear the concern in his best friend's voice. But Kenma had known him longer, so he heard past the obvious concern and picked up deviation. Passed swollen tear ducts, Kenma saw that his friend had something bothering him too. Kuro needed Kenma's problems to distract from his own, whatever they may be. So Kenma figured it was only fair to do the same.

 

“What’s Bokuto doing?”

 

“Putting the TV stand together. He insisted on doing it without instructions so he probably won’t finish until Akashi comes back.”

 

“Hmm. Can you get me that box over there,” he pointed to the corner of the kitchen with brown boxes labeled with different appliances and fragile written on them. “It has mugs and cups in it.”

 

“Sure,” Kuro said, making his way over. He shuffled through a few boxes before bringing the right one to the counter where Kenma started carefully taking one by one out.

 

“Anything else?” Kuro asked. Kenma pointed to a half empty box on the small kitchen table.

 

“Can you put some lining in the cabinet shelves so I can put the dishes away, please?”

 

“Yeah. No problem.” Kuro grabbed the small step ladder and shelf lining and started to fit them to the cabinet shelves as Kenma took out cup after cup, keeping a mind to watch his friend carefully. His thoughts came racing back to his own problems when he had picked up one of his boyfriend's favorite mugs—a mug with a printed photograph of a lucifer dogfish—that was kept at his place. Kenma never understood why that was his favourite, only receiving obscure lines from the redhead like _it's just an animal I want to combine with. It was either that or a French cat without a mouth or an electric mouse that always gets kidnapped no matter how strong he gets._ The fond smile that was slowly forming at the memory fell the moment something else hit him.

 

Shouyou said odd things sometimes—things that even Kenma couldn't decode. And maybe that's it. Maybe he had missed something during their six years together—something that would help him understand why the endearing ball of sunshine wasn’t here with him now. What is it, that's holding them back?

 

It wasn't until Kuro said something that he realized he must have been standing there like a statue, zoning deep into the eyes of the enigma of a fish.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he heard, looking up at Kuro. Kenma frowned, further hiding his face as he put the mug down with the rest of the cups. He didn’t want to talk about Shouyou. He didn’t want to talk about how he had been so wrong about the entire situation. He didn’t want to talk about how the moment all his friends leave, he’d be all alone. He didn't want to talk about how quiet and empty an apartment that was meant for _them_ feels with only _him_.

 

“About what?” he stalled, blond strands curtaining his expression.

 

“About why you look like a complete mess,” Kuro said bluntly.

 

Kenma rarely challenged Kuro when he got overprotective or concerned, but his childhood friend didn’t have the right to lecture him. Right now, they may as well have been cut from the same cloth.

 

“Why do _you?”_

 

“Kenma,” Kuro warned in his old captain voice, leaving no room for argument. Obviously, his best friend didn't want to talk about what was bothering him either, so why did he expect Kenma to?

 

 _“Kuro,”_ he sassed. The blond knew he was only being difficult out of frustration, but he really didn’t want to be queried.

 

“Look, obviously you’re upset.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Kenma…”

 

“I’m _not,”_ he repeated firmly. He tried to be more convincing by finally meeting the older man’s gaze, but it only gave Kuro a better view of the cracks in Kenma’s face of indifference—glassy eyes and quivering lips. Before the ravenhead could say anything else, sounds of the front door opening and tools falling to the wooden floor echoed through the kitchen.

 

“KEEEEIIIGHGHHJIIII!” Bokuto cried. The sound of fast footsteps and a soft “thump” followed his outburst, most likely from throwing his arms around his fiancé. Bokuto had a tireless habit of greeting the ravenhead with a tight hug whenever they were separated for more than ten minutes. Akaashi let out a sigh loud enough to be heard from the entrance all the way to the kitchen.

 

“Were you trying to build the TV stand over there?”

 

“?!?! You mean it actually looks like a TV stand?”

 

“No, not at all. It looks nothing like it. That's why I guessed that was what you were trying to build.”

 

“K-KEIGHGHJII—”

 

Seeing a means to escape the conversation, Kenma quickly moved out of the kitchen and into the living room before Kuro could interrogate him more.

 

“What kind of pizza did you get?” he asked. Lev had two boxes on his long arms as he walked into the flat, a wide grin on his face as Yaku trailed behind with a set jaw, obviously annoyed with something his longtime boyfriend must have done.

 

“Triple cheese and meat lovers. I convinced Yaku-san to get breadsticks, too!” Lev exclaimed as he placed the food on a makeshift coffee table made from empty moving boxes. Yaku took out some complementary paper plates and passed around soda cans. It didn’t take long for Bokuto and Lev to start grabbing slice upon slice of cheesy, greasy pizza, licking their fingers and shaking chili flakes on top.

 

Kenma was happy that he didn't have to spend the day by himself. Work and gaming hadn't been as good of a distraction from his relationship as much as the people sitting on his living room floor grubbing on cheap, yummy pizza. He felt the hair on his arms rise and immediately knew he was being watched attentively by Kuro. He felt nervous until he heard Yaku clear his throat.

 

“So, Akaashi. How’s the wedding coming?” Yaku asked.

 

“Oh, yeah!” Lev exclaimed, his mouth full, “I wanna know what’s going on too!”

 

“It’s slow for the most part,” Akaashi said. He took another nibble of his pizza when Bokuto decided to interject.

 

“Don’t worry Lev, we decided that the guys who can’t be groomsmen will be doing something else! Like the people who seat guests or the person who’s in charge of making sure Akaashi’s grandma doesn’t drink.”

 

“Lev is not going to be in charge of my grandmother.”

 

“I agree,” Yaku said, earning a loud whine from his Russian boyfriend on how he's _really_ responsible.

 

“It's not fair,” Lev cried, “I'm the only one here who isn't a groomsman.”

 

“Stop complaining,” Yaku scolded, stuffing more pizza into his mouth as he continued to brush off his boyfriend.

 

“Sorry Lev,” Kuro teased, “Not everyone could make the cut.”

 

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re the best man!”

 

“This is true.” He put a hand to his chest humbly. “But it couldn't have been helped. There could only be one, and I _am_ the one,” he smirked, “for I am the _best man_ for the job.” He fistbumped with a silently nodding Bokuto who wore a ridiculously proud expression.

 

 _“Bro,”_ Bokuto said approvingly.

 

“...There's actually _two_ best mans in this wedding, you know,” Kenma deadpanned.

 

“Hmm, so who’s yours, Akaashi?” Yaku asked. Everyone’s attention shifted towards the raven-haired man.

 

“My what?”

 

“Your best man.”

 

“Oh, right,” Akaashi said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I actually asked Tsukishima to be my best man.”

 

“You asked Tsukki?” Bokuto asked, surprising everyone.

 

“You didn’t know, Bokuto-san?” Lev asked, confused. Bokuto shook his head, saying how it was the first he was hearing about it.

 

“I only just asked him a few days ago,” Akaashi explained. Kenma wasn't as surprised or as alarmed as Bokuto. He knew Tsukishima and Akaashi had grown closer recently, and anyone who was a close friend of Akaashi's would know how close the two were a few years back. He also remembered how he had helped the tall blond plan Akaashi's and Kageyama's birthday party only a few weeks ago. Kenma thought Tsukishima was a strong choice, especially seeing as he'd help destress Akaashi and might even help out in the planning process.

 

However, as Akaashi was explaining why he decided Tsukishima was the best choice, Kenma saw Bokuto shoot a worried glance in Kuro's direction before quickly turning back to his fiancé. Kenma sneakily shifted his gaze from the peppered-haired man to his best friend, and that's when he noticed how Kuro’s eyes had widened by the smallest of fractions and his posture was tense with anxiety.

 

Kenma watched Kuro look twenty-one all over again, uncertain about what to do about the blond that haunted his thoughts for years. Kuro tried to act casual, as if he were listening and not in his own head, going back to eating his pizza and trying his hardest not to cringe or wince at the conversation. Kenma inwardly sighed.

 

Looks like the two of them have both been picked to the bone by a murder of crows.

 

But what was throwing Kenma off, however, was how much of an effect simply uttering Tsukishima’s _name_ had on Kuro at the moment. Usually, Kuro was extra careful at hiding his feelings for his old kouhai. His behaviour at Akaashi and Kageyama's birthday party was a good example of how well he kept his pining in check, and so far, it seemed that no one else knew about his feelings for the blond. Aside from Kenma, and now, surprisingly—Bokuto.

 

So the fact that he was so visibly distressed was raising alarms in Kenma. Before he could ponder more about what could have happened with his friend, however, he heard:

 

“So, where’s Hinata?”

 

Everyone’s eyes were immediately on the oblivious Russian. Kenma felt his face drain of all color. Kuro and Akaashi wore deadpanned faces, almost unsurprised that Lev would be the one to bring up such a topic. Bokuto’s eyes went wide with surprise—surprise that it wasn’t he who ended up asking first, of course.

 

Yaku wore a face that promised death. His left eye twitched and his jaw clenched as he tried his best to refrain from dragging Lev to the window and send him flying from the fourth floor. It only took a moment for Lev to register the change in mood from the room. He looked at Yaku and paled.

 

“Wh-what?” Lev asked, frozen with fear.

 

“Nothing,” Kuro said, his voice just a few decibels shy of threatening. He shook his head and went back to his pizza slice. “Just drop it.”

 

Kenma thought he might have been in the clear until Bokuto coughed. Akaashi immediately glared at his partner, silently demanding him to drop the issue. The dual-color-haired man, however, remained adamant.

 

“Well, Ken. You know you could tell us anything right?” Bokuto softly offered. Kenma felt his chest tighten and stomach drop. His anxiety was already through the roof and having all his close friends hover around him and try to make him talk out his feelings about Shouyou was...unbearable. He felt himself shrink and curl into himself as Bokuto stared at him, an eager-looking Lev by his side. Akaashi, seemingly picking up on Kenma’s state of mind, immediately nudged Bokuto’s side, indicating that he should leave the small setter be. Bokuto, on the other hand, was still quite insistent.

 

“Maybe we could help if you and the kid are having problems, yeah?”

 

“ _Koutarou_ ,” Akaashi hissed. If Yaku’s face promised death, Akaashi’s expression was for only for those who were to be sent down into the deepest, darkest depths of hell. Slow, cruel torture of the highest degree.

 

“What?! I didn’t even bring it up all day! It was Lev!” Bokuto defended, pointing fiercely at the Russian. They heard a loud smack, followed by a small cry and turned to see Lev rubbing the back of his head.

 

“Yaku-san! That hurt!”

 

“Serves you right, being so insensitive.”

 

“I was just curious why he wasn’t here.” Lev cried. He got another resounding smack to the gut from his smaller half.

 

“Regardless,” Kuro interrupted, “it’s not your place, Lev.” He looked at Kenma, who had already pulled his knees up to his chin, and steered the conversation away by trying to convince Akaashi into letting him and Bokuto choose the music for the wedding.

 

And as Kenma tried to get invested in the conversations full of exasperated sighs from Akaashi and terrible arguments from Bokuto and Kuro, Kenma felt the walls of his new place expand. He felt small and lonely within his new home, far too big for just himself. He had been wrong, and now, amongst his friends, Kenma had felt lonelier than he had in the past six years.

 

He wished Shouyou was here.

 

He wished he was unpacking for two. But Kenma couldn’t change how Shouyou felt. Shouyou had always been the one to initiate everything in their relationship. And during the rare times that they had fought, it was always Shouyou who ended up apologizing first. Kenma felt hurt and confused. Having his boyfriend absent during his move in day only made him feel more like a fool, but nevertheless, he didn’t want to end up looking worse off. Or really, worse than Kuro. As the rest of the group argued over Kuro and Bokuto’s terrible taste in music, Kenma pulled out his phone to text his boyfriend. A week was long enough.

 

When he opened the lock screen to the picture of he and Shouyou at the beach, he saw that the redhead had already sent him a text of his own. An apology, telling Kenma that a week apart was really getting to him. Kenma didn’t know why he couldn’t just come to terms with the fact that Shouyou didn’t want to move in with him. They had both said things, but Shouyou was just being honest. So maybe, for the both of them...

 

Maybe Kenma could wait a bit longer until he and Shouyou are on the same page. That's all they needed, right? Just a bit more time...

  
  


**Yaku**

  


Even as Yaku and Lev made their way up the stairs to their shared apartment, Lev was still complaining about how Yaku had left bruises on him. They had been the first to leave Kenma's new apartment, the shorter of the two seemingly horrified with his boyfriend's denseness. During the train ride home, Lev once again asked exactly what was so wrong in asking about Hinata.

 

Even though Lev had known Kenma only a year less than Yaku, it was obvious the taller man was still clueless on picking up on the small nuances and signs Kenma gave off when feeling overwhelmed. Seeing Hinata absent today was a clear indicator that the blond would be moving into the two bedroom apartment without his boyfriend.

 

Yaku remembered that time in his and Lev’s relationship. When they were both green and unsure of what the future had in store for them. Lev was, unsurprisingly, the one who had asked the elder to move in together, wanting to show how serious he was about their relationship. They were young, and in love.

 

Before heading to their home at the end of the long hallway, the couple stopped at an apartment a few doors before theirs, knocking gently on the plain, white door. A quick response came from within the apartment followed by the sound of footsteps thumping towards them. A moment later, he heard locks coming undone and the door swung open to reveal Kageyama Tobio donned in a fanmade t-shirt decorated with the words _TOBIYOLO_ and his well-worn, volleyball-patterned pajama pants

 

“Hey, Kageyama-kun!” Lev greeted cheerfully. “Where's Leo?” The silver-haired male tried to crane himself around the ravenhead to get a better look into his apartment. Yaku was in the process of revving up his Legendary Left to gut punch his doofus boyfriend for the millionth time that day when he heard the distant sound of a meow. He looked inside the setter's apartment to see a large orange and white Maine Coon strutting his way to the front door. Once he saw his two owners, the cat tiptoed over to Yaku and rubbed up against his shin, yearning for affection. The smaller male picked up his pet, the fluffy body covering his entire chest and tail draping past his torso.

 

“Thanks for looking after him, Kageyama,” Yaku said. The setter nodded.

 

“He was really well-behaved,” he mumbled, “didn't make a mess or bother Hana-san.” He looked down at the purring cat thoughtfully. “We wouldn't mind taking care of him again.”

 

Lev grinned. “Oh! Kageyama-kun, you should come over! Yaku can make some tea, ya’ know, as thanks!!” He eagerly pulled up a shopping bag he was holding. “I also got some toys I want you to see for Leo!”

 

Kageyama accepted, a little flustered despite his stoic expression. Despite having been in their apartment many times before, the setter still always seemed surprised whenever they invited him over. “Sure, I just”—he looked down at his t-shirt and pants—“got to get changed. And let Hana-san know. I'll come over in a bit.”

 

Once in the cozy sanctity of their own home, Yaku went to start the kettle as his boyfriend placed Leo on one of his many cat towers that occupied their place, this one located in their bedroom where the newest order had been placed. A few minutes later they heard a soft knock on the door. Lev went to let the dark setter inside, promptly leading him to the living room couch where he pulled out four new feather teasers, each one with the design of a crow.

 

“I call this one Tsukki because it looks _just_ like him when he's mad,” Lev cooed excitedly, showing him a teaser with a scowling crow. The next one was dubbed _Freckles-kun_ , because as Lev explained, it looked almost as sweet as Yamaguchi Tadashi. The third teaser was named _Bakageyama-kun,_ a crow with a look that screamed, as Lev called it, “awkward evilness”. The human Kageyama wasn't too pleased, but said nothing about it, figuring the Russian (probably) meant no offense to him. The last was a crow with the widest smile, eyes wide and almost glimmering with excitement.

 

“And this one is obviously Hinata,” Lev finished, dangling it in front of the ravenhead. The setter grabbed the toy in his hand and gently caressed it with his fingers. Yaku watched as the two males in front of him started flicking the teasers in front of Leo, the cat lazily swinging a paw at the two toys with slight interest. Yaku brought over teacups and a teapot, carefully filling them as the two younger men played with the orange haired fluff ball.

 

“So, how was Hinata today?” Kageyama asked, carefully keeping an eye on Leo as he kept maneuvering the toy just out of his reach.

 

“I don't know,” Lev said. “He wasn't there. Apparently, he hadn't moved in.” The Russian continued to erratically bob his toy back and forth in front of an indifferent Leo (who had long given up on even touching the silver-head’s teaser), completely unaware of the glare the eldest was sending his way. Kageyama lifted his head immediately at the news.

 

“What?” he asked. Yaku watched as a new spark bloomed in the eyes and set jaw of the old Karasuno setter. Lev was, as usual, oblivious to Kageyama's change of demeanor.

 

“Yeah, apparently he and Kenma had a fight so I guess only Kenma moved int—”

 

“Aah, that's enough gossip, Lev,” Yaku said, waving his hand dismissively but his tone pointed and final. He quickly moved on to a new topic, not wanting the conversation to steer to an awkward silence.

 

“Lev, you wanna show Kageyama the new training regimen you thought of for the kids?”

 

“Right,” Kageyama said, nodding to Lev. “For those kids at the local gym, huh?”

 

“Yup! They’re gonna hate _and_ love me when they see it!” Lev beamed proudly. “I’ll go get my plan book! Maybe you could give me tips, yeah, Kageyama-kun?” The setter nodded and the tall, silver-haired man scurried off to the bedroom, leaving Yaku alone with Kageyama.

 

Yaku knew best what the look on unrequited love looked like. He had looked like that during his entire senior year once he met Lev. It was only after he went to college that he found out the silver-haired noob had also felt the same towards him. He had been on the receiving end of a multitude of pep talks and quiet encouragements to pursue the taller boy, but he had little courage to change things on his own. Then Lev had finally graduated and took the first step himself, declaring his love and asking him out. Before then, Yaku never dared to do anything because he was always afraid of hurting Lev, being hurt in return, or even worse—not being good enough for the younger man. He wondered if Kageyama had the same reasons back in high school.

 

“Y’know,” Yaku started, carefully, “Lev might be too clueless to see it, but I can.” Kageyama looked at him dumbfoundedly, not knowing how to respond to such a random statement.

 

“What?” he eloquently replied.

 

“What I mean,” Yaku tried to clarify, “is that I _know_.” He firmly leveled his gaze with the ravenhead. “And I...sympathize. But I still think it’s a kinda cruel to be happy when hearing of a friend’s failure.”

 

“Failure?” Kageyama asked, unsure of what to make of his words. Yaku bit his lips a little, but refused to waver.

 

“Kenma's…with Hinata.” Kageyama eyes widened and immediately dropped down to Leo, who was still pawing at the wide-eyed crow with a beaming smile. He continued to flick the teaser just out of reach of the cat’s swing, taking another moment before he replied.

 

“I don’t wish ill on Kozume-san.”

 

“I know,” Yaku said, handing Kageyama his tea. The setter put down the toy and took the cup, quietly thanking him. Before Kageyama could take a sip, Yaku spoke once more.

 

“I know that we can’t help who we love.” Kageyama froze—a long stem of steam wafted in front of his face as he kept his eyes on his tea, soft ripples traveling across the surface. He felt the shorter man place a hand on his shoulders, easing him from his rigid posture.

 

“It's okay,” he tried to reassure, “I love Kenma, but you're my friend too.” He gave him a smile. Kageyama didn't seem sure if he believed him, so Yaku added, “If you do intend to pursue something, though, try to do your best not to hurt anyone.” The setter turned to him, confusion written all over his face as transparent steam drifted around his features. Yaku gave him a toothy smile.

 

“Life’s too short to be unfair to yourself, Kageyama,” Yaku said lightly, lifting his cup to his lips and sipping slowly, careful not to burn his tongue. Kageyama stared at him, still confused, but his expression gradually softened to appreciation and a silent thank you. He too sipped his tea with a small smile, eyes hazy as he daydreamed. _Yeah,_ Yaku thought, _I remember when I was just like that_.

 

They then heard the bedroom door open as Lev reentered the room.

 

“I heard you say something about ‘short’. Yaku-san, were we talking about you?”

 

And for the dozenth time that day, Lev had earned himself another bruise from his boyfriend.

 

Once Kageyama finished his tea and talked volleyball to Lev, he stood to leave, thanking them for the tea and saying he'd be more than willing to cat sit Leo in the future. It was nearing midnight by the time they both got ready for bed. While Lev was in the bathroom, Yaku picked then to grab the extra blankets from their towering closet.

 

He groaned when he saw that his boyfriend had placed them on the top of the closet—where only the silver-haired giant could reach.

 

“How ridiculous,” Yaku huffed.

 

The shorter man made his way to the dining table to grab a chair that almost outweighed him, groaning as he hoisted it against his hip all the way to their room. He inelegantly dropped the piece of furniture in front of the closet and stood on the seat, making sure he was stable before reaching over to grab two old wool blankets and a twin-sized bed sheet. He held onto everything at once and regretted it immediately. As he shifted on the chair, his entire balance capsized, tipping over before a pair of strong hands were on his back, steadying him. Catching his breath, he felt the hands leave his back—warmth far more fierce than the wool in his grasp receding—and watched as the top blanket he was carrying was lifted from his arms. The loss of the top layer allowed him to peer over the blanket pile and see a disheartened Lev.

 

“Thanks, Lev,” Yaku said softly. He wasn’t used to peering down on his boyfriend (only on special occasions) and found the half smile Lev was currently sporting unconvincing from this view. Before he could step onto the sturdy, _reliable_ floor of their bedroom, Lev maneuvered his hip to stop Yaku, making sure the shorter man stayed in place—making sure he wouldn't _escape—_ and listen to whatever he had to say.

 

The former-libero watched his boyfriend carry on with his false upbeat expression, his stomach tightening with anticipation of what the other was bound to say. He knew full well why Lev stopped him.

 

“I—I could put the heater on,” Lev proposed. “That way if it’s too cold, we wouldn’t need all these blankets.” His grin grew wider, almost successfully masking the plea in his words. Yaku sighed again, unable to meet his deep-green eyes, choosing instead to look down at the smaller blanket in his arms.

 

“It gets cold on the couch, Lev.”

 

“Th...then stay in the bed,” Lev urged, his reply stumbling from his lips. Yaku didn’t bring up that he knew Lev put the blankets on the highest shelf on purpose or the fact that he was being extra silly today, so Yaku would reprimand him more—so he and Yaku could engage in the banter they _used_ to have and both sorely missed. He knew that he was trying—trying harder than Yaku, at least. “You could just sleep with me…you can _stay.”_

 

“ _Lev_ ...” Yaku quietly groaned, not annoyed, just _tired_. Tired of walking on eggshells, tired of pretending in front of others. He was tired of causing such awful expressions on his boyfriend's handsome face. Yaku forcefully stepped off the chair and placed the blankets, even the one’s on Lev’s arms, on the chair. Lev stood there, looking like he wanted to say more. Yaku just leaned forward and placed his head on the taller boy’s chest, breathing him in. Lev slowly wrapped his arms around his shoulders, hands hanging crisscross at his neck. They stayed that way for what felt like hours, neither wanting the other to sleep alone.

 

Yaku pulled away first, telling Lev that it was late and they should get some sleep. Lev lingered close to him, fingers still resting near the smaller man’s collar, chewing at his bottom lip to stop himself from asking him again to stay in the bed tonight and not in their living room. It had been weeks of the same nighttime routine—keeping the other at arm’s length. What was hard was when they had good days like today, full of laughs and slight brushing of their hands, full of empty quarrels and quick glances between moving boxes and friends. It reminded them of the beginning of their relationship. They sat close to each other all day and it had felt like old times. But they both knew that days like today were now few and far between. With a final push, Yaku grabbed the back of the seat and dragged the heavy chair out of the room with his arms holding onto the blankets.

 

He closed the door behind him, catching a quick peek at Lev, who was looking down at his feet instead of at his boyfriend—the boyfriend who was choosing to sleep in the another room. They were both taking their current circumstances harder than expected. And even though it was a good day, Yaku chose the couch. He chose their uncomfortable, lumpy, dingy old sofa because Yaku had been responsible for a lot of bad days between them. He laid the bed sheet on top of the couch before he spread out the blankets, stretching them along the cushions. He grabbed a couch pillow and placed it under his head as he laid down, his back whining with every bump and divot.

 

Yes, he longed for their king sized bed again. He longed for the memory foam mattress and finely threaded sheets. And he longed for lanky limbs wrapping around his waist with an adorable loud snore piercing his ears.

 

But Yaku was an honest person, and he knew that he and his boyfriend needed to figure out if they would make it. Yaku couldn’t sleep in their bed if either of them felt any indication that they wouldn’t work out.

 

Yaku thought about his earlier conversation with Kageyama. He recalled what he had said, remembering all the times he had told himself the same thing. So, as he laid on his couch and stared at the stucco ceiling, Leo snuggled up on his stomach, kneading his ribs, he reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. He didn't want to give Lev any more false hope, he didn't want to be unfair to him. He was just trying his best not to hurt someone else, not to hurt the person he loved most, not any more than he already has.

 

He loved Lev, loved his lanky limbs that he always wanted to be wrapped in, loved his airheadedness that gave him the ability to be so straightforward and honest, loved his childlike optimism that always kept him smiling during the day despite their evening routine. He loved all of that, he loved _him._

 

But sometimes love wasn't enough, and sometimes love faded.

 

And sometimes, in your confusion, you fall for another too.

 

After all, you can’t help who you love.

  


**Ushijima**

  


Ushijima had been polishing one of his participation trophies when he received a call from Isao, an older bartender who had become well acquainted with both Ushijima and Oikawa who often frequented his little-known tavern on the outskirts of their neighborhood. It was perfect for them, darkly lit with loyal customers who kept to themselves. Isao had only asked for his number so that he could occasionally help the elder man move heavy inventory from time to time. He folded his polishing cloth neatly and placed his small, unimpressive trophy down before he grabbed his phone, bringing it to his ear.

 

“Hello, this is Ushijima Wakatoshi. How may I help you?” he answered.

 

“Ah, Ushijima-kun. It’s Isao.”

 

“Yes, I recognized the number, Isao-san. Did you have need of me?”

 

“Well, actually Ushijima-kun, I’m calling ‘cuz your roommate, Oikawa-kun. Ya hafta come get ‘im.”

 

“Oikawa?” To say he was surprised was an understatement. Oikawa was a favorite patron at the bar, being a very generous tipper. All the bartenders knew his drinks of choice and enjoyed his presence in the establishment. _Mr. Popular_ is what they called him, unsure of why he stuck around when he seemed like someone who would prefer some fancy cocktail lounge or club. Oikawa liked it there and rarely caused trouble. Tonight, he was also supposed to be downtown with friends. What was he doing at the bar?

 

“Yeah. Kid's too drunk ta get home by ‘imself. I offered ta call ‘im a cab but he's bein’ all insistent on walkin’. I think ya should come get ‘im. Kinda worried he'll wander into traffic or somethin’ on his way home.” Ushijima frowned at the news. Oikawa liked to drink, but he was a social drinker. He hardly indulged in getting so numbingly drunk.

 

He did, however, go meet with his old Seijoh teammates for Hanamaki’s birthday celebration.

 

Which meant this unusual excessive drinking must be either due to Oikawa finally telling his friends that he was in a serious relationship with him…

 

Or because of Iwaizumi.

 

“I see. Thank you, Isao-san. I’ll be there shortly.” He quickly left the guest room and made his way to the door, taking with him a heavy coat and extra scarf on his way out. He locked the door behind him and calmly walked towards the elevator.

 

On his brisk ten minute walk to his favorite bar, Ushijima tried his best to calm his annoyance. He knew his jealousy irritated Oikawa, but he couldn’t really control how he felt. It was obvious, from the moment they first showed interest in the other, that Oikawa was just using him as a substitution for Seijoh’s former ace. At first, Ushijima was fine with that. His long last crush was finally batting his eyelashes his way and he didn’t intend on ruining it.

 

Then as time went on he found himself growing more and more attached to the chocolate-haired man, yearning for more than his attention every now and then. So Ushijima told him immediately that he held strong feelings for the other man, and that he had intentions to properly date him if they were to continue their relationship. Oikawa was completely taken aback with his forwardness, unsure of what to make of his confession. It had taken Oikawa a month after that to agree to date him, but only in secret. Ushijima wasn’t a fan of secrecy, but he knew that he would have to choose his battles from there on in. He knew his lover was not ready to tell the world of their relationship—he didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea in case Iwaizumi ever came to his senses. So Ushijima stayed a substitute, and time went on. And Iwaizumi stayed in the picture.

 

And then he fell in love.

 

And eventually, second place wasn’t enough for the larger male. If he were honest, he couldn’t understand why Oikawa felt the way he did. Iwaizumi Hajime was by all accounts a good man, but he was weak.

 

Weak-minded, weak-hearted. He was gutless. Ushijima could not understand how Oikawa could love a man who was too cowardly to love him back. And frankly, if Iwaizumi wasn't brave enough to love someone like Oikawa back, then he didn't deserve him.

 

There was a time during his late teens where he had been bitter about Oikawa choosing to go to Aoba Johsai instead of the far superior choice—Shiratorizawa—where Ushijima attended. He knew the gifted setter was the ultimate choice to be his partner, the best choice that would help him reach his fullest potential. But instead, he decided to stray, choosing instead to be a gem amongst gravel, the only shining light on his team. It was foolish. Impractical. Absurd.

 

The only logical answer Ushijima could think of why Oikawa had chosen a lesser school was that it was because of his childhood friend, Iwaizumi. He tasted acid down his throat with the thought. Why, he would wonder. Why _him_?

 

Iwaizumi was a good man, but he wasn’t special. And what was worse was that he was indifferent to Oikawa’s feelings for him, feelings that Ushijima would never take for granted. Would never turn away.

 

But he was being serious when he told his boyfriend that he didn't intend on being his placeholder anymore. If he were a better man, he would let Oikawa take his time and slowly adjust until he could finally bring himself to tell the people closest to him about their relationship. But this way, Ushijima had answers. If Oikawa was willing to make sacrifices and put himself out there to tell his family and friends about his two-year-long relationship, then Ushijima could endure a while longer. Can endure until his heart was only for Ushijima. That way, Iwaizumi could finally stop leading Oikawa on and establish some distance so that Ushijima and Oikawa could be together without hesitation or threat. Without a shadow hanging over their relationship.

 

Ushijima knew his convictions and wants were selfish. But it was for the best, for both of them. They could finally have the relationship that they were meant to have, they could bloom into a splendor of ripe verdure. Without Iwaizumi in the picture, Ushijima couldn’t see a reason why Oikawa couldn’t be happy with him.

 

Once Ushijima finally made it to the bar, he spotted his boyfriend—usually in high spirits and flirtatious smile in tow—hunched over on the bar top, glazed eyes unfocused on the glass in front of him, empty and sticky. This man was not Oikawa Tooru. This was the shell of the man left behind after a calamitous collision with one Iwaizumi Hajime. Suddenly, any remorse or guilt he felt for thinking so lowly of his boyfriend's best friend flew out the window. This was all the good that could come of a relationship between the childhood friends—self-destructive tendencies and disappointment.

 

With Iwaizumi out of the picture, Oikawa would be better off and Ushijima would make certain that he was treated like he deserved. He was loyal and selflessly in love with him, and would do anything to make him happy. He would never break his heart.

 

Ushijima made his way past some regulars and an unfamiliar group of college kids who appeared to have chosen this small dingy bar for someone's twentieth birthday. He pulled the bar stool next to the morose setter, keeping his eyes on the friendly bartender who shuffled over once he saw Ushijima sit down. Oikawa turned his head, only to scoff when he saw who had sat down next to him.

 

“Oh god,” Oikawa groaned, sinking further into his seat. He pouted towards Isao, betrayal evident on his expression. “‘M hurt, Isao-saaan. How could you tell on me?”

 

“Was only lookin’ out for ya, kid,” the older man said, wiping down a glass before pouring some beer and placing it in front of Ushijima, who was still gauging Oikawa’s state of intoxication. From what he could tell, Oikawa was about two shots and a bottle of sake passed wasted. Ushijima would have just brushed off the rare occurrence if his boyfriend wasn't biting his lips with anxiety and had red-rimmed eyes, swollen from already shed tears. Ushijima tried not to look alarmed, not wanting Oikawa to shut him out and try to keep his issues to himself. He heard a sniffle at his side before the smaller man cleared his throat.

 

“Aren’t you going to lecture me already, Waka-chan?” Oikawa slurred, side eyeing Ushijima as he slowly sipped what was left of his drink.

 

“And why would I do that?”

 

“Cuz’ you _hate_ it when I get fucked up,” Oikawa slurred, leaning more towards his boyfriend. Ushijima continued to sip his drink and kept his eyes forward. If it had been any other time, Ushijima would definitely be irked by how intoxicated Oikawa was. But he knew his usually lively boyfriend was upset, and he was trying to hide it from him.

 

“Because you tend to get handsy,” Ushijima stated. Oikawa seemed to see an opening and slowly snaked his hand under the bartop and onto his man's upper thigh. He slowly leaned in, completely uncaring of how many people were in the poorly lit room.

 

“Is that right?” Ushijima could hear the flirtatious tone, feel the warm strong hand gliding to the inside of his thigh. He could see Isao intentionally turn away from them and talk to another patron down the bar. He could see where this may lead to if Ushijima allowed Oikawa to have his way. They’d go home, copulate, and avoid the conversation that his boyfriend was oh so desperate to avoid. The larger man slowly shifted to his boyfriend, large hand placing itself on top of Oikawa’s. There was no false intention, no ulterior motive with his movement. He just wanted to be there for Oikawa with whatever was bothering him. The setter’s coy facade slightly faltered.

 

“What happened?” Ushijima asked softly. They sat still for a moment until Oikawa let out a heavy sigh and removed his hand from his boyfriend's, grabbed Ushijima’s drink and drained the rest of his glass. He licked his lips before he ran his knuckles against his mouth, nerves getting the better of him. He threaded a hand through his hair quickly, finally dropping his fake demeanor and sniffled.

 

“You should just break up with me already,” Oikawa whispered.

 

Ushijima was completely taken aback, twisting his neck to look at the setter. He was never expecting to hear something like that from the chocolate-haired man. He also never enjoyed watching him tear up and fight back as his chin trembled.

 

“Why would I ever do that?” Ushijima genuinely asked. Oikawa continued to sniffle, chewing on his lips.

 

“Because I didn’t tell them… About us...”

 

Ah. That’s what it was all about.

 

“Again.” He finished.

 

His distant attitude towards him made sense to the larger man. Oikawa must have been putting off seeing him, thinking that when Ushijima found out he had once again not told his friends about their relationship, they would fight, and he would end up even more distressed. And in his emotional state, Oikawa actually thought that Ushijima would end up breaking up with him. The ace brought his hand to rest on his boyfriend’s own and felt him shiver under his skin as the smaller man choked back a sob.

 

“Tooru,” Ushijima said, his calm voice low so that only Oikawa could hear. “Tooru, please look at me.” After not getting an initial response, Ushijima lifted his hand to Oikawa's cheek, using the smallest amount of force to shift the broken man’s face to look him. He needed to make himself clear, it would seem. He shifted his body on the stool to fully face his boyfriend, other hand rising to cup the other side of the setter's face, thumbs gently grazing along his skin and brushing the small stream of tears trailing down his beautiful face.

 

“Why would I _ever_ do that?” Ushijima asked, his tone conveying how wrong Oikawa was in every way to assume such a thing.

 

“Because”—a sniffle—“because I’m n-not good enough.” He choked up, shoulders beginning to shake.

 

“For me?”

 

“For _anyone,”_ he hissed, shaking away from his boyfriend’s touch to look at his lap, hands fisting at the fabric of his pants. Ushijima loathed how much of an effect Iwaizumi had over Oikawa—Oikawa, who was hardworking, strong, determined, and so _so_ loving—Iwaizumi could render him despondent and self-deprecating with just a single sentence.

 

“I mean, w-why would you be with me?” He shifted, trying to fight against the hands that were holding him in place, his body starting to shake. “I’m n—I’m not special, I’m selfish, I’m trash—”

 

 ** _“No,”_** Ushijima interrupted, making sure to keep his voice soft but stern. He couldn’t accept all these things Oikawa thought he was, he couldn’t accept these false ideas from the man who was slowly becoming his entire world. “You’re better than all of that. There is no one out there who should make you feel less than anything because you…” He needs to know, Ushijima thought, he needs to know just how amazing he was.

 

He was beautiful. He was tenacious. He was bright. He was everything to him. He would just have to tell him that. He would just have to be strong for the both of them.

 

“Tooru, you are otherworldly to me.”

 

He watched as Oikawa let go of a breath he was holding. He sniffled some more before quickly wiping away stray tears, slowly lifting his head up as the corners of his lips turned up. After a few more seconds of quiet comfort and staring at each other with a new sort of insight, Oikawa slowly leaned forward until Oikawa was inches away from Ushijima’s face, closing the distance with each sharp breath the larger man took. Soft, quivering lips melted into his own, eyes heavy with bliss as they closed, enraptured by how much love he felt—even if it was unspoken.

 

They had never kissed in public before, never put themselves out there for the world to see. Oikawa would never be caught dragging his hands across Ushijima’s chest, grasping his shirt, bringing him closer however possible. Ushijima would never be seen slowly placing his hand to his lover’s side, kneading at his sweater so he could feel his heat under all his layers. They never embraced in public. They never needed validation on how they both felt—how equally they both meant to each other.

 

They shared chaste kisses at first, pressing against the other's as nerves tingled and cheeks blushed. Gradually there was a shift, lips parting as passion took over modesty. Oikawa's hands found their way to the back of the ace's neck and Ushijima's arms wrapped themselves around the setter's waist. After a moment longer, they heard a low cough, Isao signaling them to cool it down.

 

They parted after that, Oikawa’s hands still lingering on Ushijima’s thigh. He wasn’t crying anymore—dried tear marks running down flustered cheeks and dazed eyes—so Ushijima figured he must have done something right.

 

“Let’s go home?” Ushijima asked as he reached for Oikawa’s hand, unprepared for the setter to reach out himself, fingers intertwining as he whispered yes.

 

They don’t really notice anything else after that, keeping their eyes on each other the rest of the night. They don’t notice how they weren’t charged for their drinks as they collected their coats from the back of their stools, or how Isao smiled at the sight of the two _roommates_ leaving hand-in-hand, or notice the sight of some college student with his camera phone out, fingers running over the send button with wide eyes.

  
  
  


* * *

 

**Next Chapter: Consequences**

Kuroo, Akaashi, Yachi, Ushijima, Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty wild, huh? I cringed a number of times while writing this chapter. It HURT to write it as much as it was to read. I’m a monster. Trust me, everything will be revealed in due time. There are answers to your questions to come. But, if you just can’t wait, please comment below. And leave love, please. I need it. You guys are the best!! 
> 
> ~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Kudos~
> 
> ~The Hive in June~


	7. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I'm not dead. Since I made it a few days short of three months, I'm going to go ahead and say I'm making some progress from the last chapter. For those of you who were waiting, thank you for putting up with little ole' me. 
> 
> In advance: I am so sorry.
> 
> This was rough to get through. But I really like how it came out. 
> 
> Also, bubblesandwich is a saint for putting up with my crazy and my depravity. She reads each chapter totally without any warning that I went up another level on the angst radar. I don't deserve her (-﹏-。)
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy!!! (walks over to the corner and grabs the nearest tissue box)

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_ Chapter 1: Certainty _

_ Chapter 2: Caution _

_ Chapter 3: Concessions _

_ Chapter 4: Comforts _

_ Chapter 5: Concurrence _

_ Chapter 6: Conviction _

**Chapter 7: Consequences**

 

_ Of cause and effect _ _   
_ _ Both intentional and out of our control _

* * *

 

 

**_January 29_ **

 

**Kuroo**

 

Kuroo was already having one hell of a week, and this morning was really starting to get to him. He stood at the corner of a crowded café in the Akasaka district waiting for his coffee and bagel, wondering why his order was taking fucking forever. Surrounded by suits and mindless chatter, he rested his back against the wall adjacent to the bar top, running a hand through his hair every few minutes as he prayed he wouldn’t show up late to his meeting. His sleek shoes tapped against the linoleum floor, fingers drumming against his hip as he came closer to unraveling. 

 

The past week was a complete nightmare for him—an endless barrage of sleepless nights and Bokuto-like mood swings. He would go from hot to cold instantaneously, driving himself up the wall as he tried to manage three new case files, his best friend's boyfriend dilemmas, his step mom's newest attempt to set up an omiai, and his new neighbors’ constant at-the-top-of-their-freaking-lungs arguing on the other side of his bedroom wall. Kuroo was at his wit's end. 

 

Usually, problems like these came and went. He never let all his problems accumulate to the point of them draining him until he felt like a decaying corpse. He never did, until, of course, he found himself stumbling home from Tsukishima's apartment last week in his soiled underwear and raw flesh wounds—the most preeminent walk of shame he'd ever taken. 

 

As he continued to wait for his morning intake of caffeine, he kept his mind occupied by occasionally eavesdropping on other patrons and texting Kenma. The small blond had been quiet after they had finished their pizza last night, awkwardness radiating from his bones as everyone kept sending looks of concern and sympathy his way. Kuroo had been the last one to leave his new apartment, voicing his concerns about Kenma and his loudmouth ginger beau. 

 

After empty threats and whining (and withholding his beloved PSP), Kuroo had finally convinced his best friend to tell him what had happened with Shrimpy. Kuroo felt his temper rise as Kenma told him about their fight but before he could tell his best friend that his actions were completely valid (and make his way down to the ginger’s apartment and break down his door), Kenma insisted that Hinata was right. That he was being honest and that Kenma was being unfair in deciding something so serious for the both of them when they should have talked it out. He felt lonely without his boyfriend and being in the wrong only made him feel even more lonesome. 

 

After some condolences and awkward hugging (according to Kenma— _ Bokuto, _ on the other hand had once made a three-minute long speech in testament to how  _ life changing _ his hugs are), the two former Nekoma players slumped onto Kenma’s old couch brainstorming for two hours on what to text back to Hinata—Kenma being disgusted and nervous with the responses Kuroo wrote for him, every so often wrestling when Kuroo would write something embarrassingly inappropriate—almost like they were in college again. It had been a nice distraction. 

 

That was until Kenma asked why he looked like shit. Now, almost 12 hours later, Kenma was still texting him, pestering him into telling him what had happened. 

 

_ Ken: _

_ \- Just tell me already. I told you, it’s only fair. -  _

 

Kuroo groaned loudly at the text. He felt the knots between his shoulders tighten at the looming danger of his best friend’s interrogation. Internally fuming because he  _ still _ had yet to hear his order being called, he shoved his phone forcefully back into his front pocket. He shuffled his feet as he petulantly watched a woman who had stood behind him in line receive her drink, eyes narrowing. 

 

His phone vibrated against his leg and Kuroo debated whether to ignore it or not. Would telling Kenma really be the worst thing? He reached back into his pocket and fished out his phone, unlocking the screen that read:

 

_ Ken: _

_ \- It can’t be that bad. - _

 

Oh, Kenma. 

 

He should know better by now. 

 

Being his best friend, he should be fully aware of how much Kuroo could really fuck something up.  _ (Like, please. The only person who could fuck things up more than Kuroo would be Bokuto during a bad hair day or Suguru Daishou’s very existence).  _ Knowing Kuroo, it  _ can  _ be that bad. It would be no wonder how he could find himself willingly pursuing the one guy who saw him as nothing more than a casual convenience. 

 

A toy.

 

He tightened his grip on his phone at the thought. 

 

It wasn’t a new revelation of his. He recalled lying next to the tall blond some years ago, wondering how something that started out as fun quickly got away from him—tumbling down a rabbit hole—developing insecurities he’d never thought he’d have and questioning every new feeling he wasn’t sure he wanted. 

 

When had he allowed this kid—this smart-mouthed, acrimonious, skinny underclassman—to root himself in every aspect of Kuroo’s life until it felt vacant without him?

 

It took some time to build himself back up again when he and Tsukishima ended. And if he were being honest, yeah, he knew that he never really tried getting over the blond. He never dated seriously, never got too personal with hook ups, never approached anyone who looked  _ remotely _ like him… maybe because he wanted to hold on to the smallest sliver of hope. 

 

That hope both ignited and burnt out last week.  

 

Now, after years of denial and misplaced lust, it was obviously clear that they would never,  _ ever _ have a relationship beyond a physical one. He’s almost not ready to fully accept it like he would once his friends knew. He ran his fingers lazily across his screen. 

 

_ Me: _

_ \- yes it can lol - _

 

He was about to once again slip his phone into his pocket when he felt it shake in his hand, Kenma’s immediate response forcing him to look back at the device. 

 

_ Ken: _

_ \- Don’t lol me. - _

_ \- I know it’s about Tsukishima. -  _

 

Kuroo was also aware that given all their years as friends, Kuroo should really know better when it came to Kenma’s scary mind reading powers. He debated whether or not to turn off his phone or just ignore the text altogether. 

 

“Americano and plain bagel for Bureau! Bureau? Oh,  _ Kuroo. What the fu— _ order for Kuroo!” He heard the barista shout over the loud hum of patrons waiting for a morning dose. He quickly made his way over to the bar top where his black gold paper cup (which had atrocious cursive on it) steamed and his bagel wrapped in a brown paper bag. He grabbed a lid for the cup, knowing it was too hot for his cat-tongue at the moment. He’d have breakfast peacefully at his desk. With a new found distraction, Kuroo thanked the employee before walking towards the exit. Phone still in hand, he typed away, hoping to end the interrogation before it had a chance to start.

 

_ Me: _

_ \- just got to office, ttyl <3<3 - _

 

He knew that Kenma could tell it was a lie, but he’d deal with that later. He didn't have enough energy, enough fight left in him to tell his friends. Because once he did…

 

He could never go back to Kei. 

 

Bokuto would probably tell him that it wasn’t too late and to go for it. But he didn’t want to disappoint his best bro. 

And if he told Bokuto, he would insist on telling his other half… who would then know about his long-standing crush. Actually, he wouldn't put it past Akaashi if he was already aware of his infatuation for his best man. 

And he  _ really _ didn’t want to deal with both Akaashi and Kenma analyzing his participation in his and Tsukishima’s latest rendezvous. 

 

The conclusion would still end up the same if he told them. He wasn’t willing to put himself in harm's way again. He wouldn’t seek the rejection he was bound to get if he were honest, because  _ if he were honest-  _

 

If he were honest, he would see him again.

 

He knew himself, he knew that eventually—if given the chance to jump back into the abyss of whatever Tsukishima wanted them to be, whatever whim his kouhai wanted him to abide by, whatever disposable trinket he was destined to be for the blond—he would go back. He knew it was weak. He knew it was pathetic. Which was exactly why he wasn't ready to face the music. He just wanted to sip his coffee and eat his bagel and facebook-stalk his ex-lover like he has been doing since last week. 

 

He wasn’t ready for complicated just yet. He’d deal with it after his friends wormed it out of him later. 

 

He walked towards his office building, coffee and bagel bag balanced in front of him on one hand as he opened up the feed on his phone with the other. He got bombarded with some annoying advertisement that played until he arrived at the front of his building. Just as he walked up to the doors, he scrolled down hoping to find something dinosaur-bone related that’d give him a glimpse into the life of the blond bombshell that turned his brain into goo. Instead, a headline from a tabloid magazine caught his eye. 

 

**_Star Athletes Involved in Homosexual Scandal_ **

 

Right under the headline was a picture taken in some dark pub that focused on two men kissing at the bar. Being this day and age, the picture quality was fantastic—good enough to clearly make out the two men in said picture. They were two of the most famous volleyball players in the country. They were Kuroo’s old teammates in college. They were his friends, and they were obviously not  _ just _ roommates.

 

As Kuroo stood frozen staring at the picture of Oikawa wrapped in Ushijima’s arms, the building door opened in front of his face. The only thing more shocking than his friends macking on each other on the cover of some trashy magazine was the searing hot pain that hit him as he spilled his coffee all over his front.

 

The universe was clearly laughing at him, turning his life into a shitshow thanks to his stupid life choices. 

 

"Fuck!" he seethed, his white shirt stained and wet, his blazer and pants darkened by the liquid. He heard the person who had opened the door grab a handful of napkins from her bag, apologizing over and over that she didn't see him while some people stopped and stared at the scene. 

 

Kuroo was having one hell of a fucking week. 

  
  


**Akaashi**

  
  


That’s it. That’s the last straw. Today, Akaashi was going to get some answers. 

 

Akaashi Keiji rarely lets things get to him, but one of his biggest pet peeves was being lied to. He never had much patience for people who thought him so slow that he wouldn’t notice when they were trying to hide the truth by being vague and indirect. Akaashi tended to navigate away from those kinds of people when given the opportunity. He was at a loss, however, when said liar happened to be engaged to him. 

 

Akaashi was both baffled and impressed with his fiancé's resilience. Almost everyone that the couple was acquainted with knew that Bokuto Koutarou could not keep a secret from his better half—ever. 

 

So, imagine Akaashi’s surprise when he finally attended his boyfriend’s university at age 18 and caught on to Bokuto sneaking out to god knows where twice a month. Akaashi didn’t appreciate being lied to, but he figured that being Bokuto—who could never keep a secret from him—he would eventually tell him what he was up to in given time. He would just have to wait patiently for when Bokuto was ready. 

 

_ That was seven years ago.  _

 

_ He’ll tell me on his own time,  _ he would repeat to himself.  _ He’ll tell me when he’s ready _ . 

 

During that time, Akaashi had started a collection of scraps of paper that he’d find in the pockets of Bokuto's jackets and pants the day after his mysterious disappearances. However, all he could see on those scraps was random chicken scratch and jumbled nonsense, further irritating and confusing the ravenhead. He would often tell himself that he'd snoop out of worry for Bokuto's well-being, wondering if he were in trouble or mortal peril. This constant worrying ceased two years ago when Akaashi finally confronted Bokuto about his bi-monthly vanishing act. 

 

_ "Oh, I just schedule some extra practice with Oikawa on those days. That's all." _

 

That was the moment that Akaashi stopped worrying, and started to get  _ really _ annoyed. 

 

Since they had known each other, Bokuto never kept secrets from him and, more importantly, never lied to him. In that moment, his pepper-haired boyfriend had just done  _ both. _ Now, two years later, Akaashi was stuck doing the same old dance: he would insist on making date plans on the first Friday or the last Thursday of every month, Bokuto would tell him he'd have late practice with Oikawa, Akaashi would stay up until Bokuto got home around midnight, would rummage through Bokuto's clothes for scraps of paper before adding them to the wash, read said evidence of his lover's mysterious endeavours (completely confused and frustrated) and catalogue them in a secret box that he kept in the back of the laundry cabinet (where Bokuto would never find it).

 

Except, that last night, Akaashi stayed up till three in the morning only for Bokuto to stumble home drunk (not noticing Akaashi waiting for him on the couch) and pass out at first contact with their bed (not bothering to take off his clothes). 

 

So here he was, sitting on the same couch with a cup of orange pekoe tea waiting for his darling liar of a fiancé to stumble out of the room so Akaashi could get some answers. 

 

He didn't wait long. Bokuto had an internal alarm clock that would wake him up at 8:30 am every day for his run. He watched his fiancé slump out of their room in the direction of their bathroom while one hand clutched onto his stomach and his other tried to shield his eyes from the morning sun peeking through the blinds. Eyes never leaving the man, the composed ravenhead coughed loud enough to let his presence be known. Bokuto jumped at the sound, startled as he caught sight of Akaashi calmly sipping his tea while his other hand rested gracefully on top of a plain box full of secrets. 

 

“KEIGHIJ! Don’t scare me like that, babe!!” Bokuto screeched. 

 

“Good morning to you too, Koutarou,” he said, eerily calm. He took another sip of his tea as Bokuto gulped slowly. “I wonder if you would have noticed me earlier if you weren’t so hung over.” He placed the box on the coffee table as he stood up with his cup, taking slow steps to his now sweaty fiancé. 

 

“So,” he took a sip, “where were you last night, Koutarou?”

 

“Oh, um...I-uh, I was practicing late with Oikawa again! It's just, he invited me back to his place after. We grabbed some beer and just, y’know,  _ hanged.” _

 

“You sure you were with Oikawa?”

 

“Yeah! He wanted to hang out without Ushijima.” 

 

“Really?”

 

“Yup!”

 

“Hmm, okay. Tell me about it.”

 

“What?” Bokuto faltered.

 

"Tell me about your night, Koutarou," Akaashi said in a sickly sweet voice, challenging Bokuto to defy him. The elder man gulped. 

 

“Umm, okay…”

 

He then continued to fidget as he retold his story and went into suspicious detail of his made-up conversation with Oikawa the night before. 

 

“Then out of nowhere— _ ha, _ Oikawa came out in a pink dress! Freaking frills and everything!! It-it suited him really well, the color matched him and everything!” Bokuto exclaimed louder than usual, his extreme hand gestures and exaggerated story doing nothing for Akaashi. But the former setter just smiled at his lover. His poor, poor lover. 

 

Akaashi had won. He knew his husband-to-be was lying, and this time, he had proof.

 

“You sure you hung out with Oikawa last night, Koutarou?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen and placing his cup down. When he reentered the living room, the elder had already begun to squirm. He walked towards Bokuto with his phone in his hand.

 

“Well?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Bokuto squeaked, “Yeah, Oikawa was with me.” 

 

“Hmm,” Akaashi gave an innocent smile as he raised his phone to his fiancé, “I just find that hard to believe. Do you know why that is, Koutarou?”

 

Bokuto eyes frantically looked between the phone in his future husband's hand and his aloof expression. He reached forward, grabbed it firmly before his attention shifted to unlock the screen. Upon unlocking the phone, Bokuto was greeted with Akaashi’s facebook, opened and showing a group picture of one of his coworkers and his friends. Specifically a picture with his former teammates. Including a flamboyantly posing Oikawa.

 

“So, Koutarou. Where were you  _ really _ ?”

 

Akaashi had also been invited (along with Yachi) out by Hanamaki to his dinner last night, but Akaashi didn’t want to intrude on his catching up with his old team. Plus, he had to wait for Bokuto to get home from god knows where. Then he remembered that his coworker used to play for Aoba Johsai. Alongside Oikawa Tooru.

 

And while it wasn't his intention to use his coworker’s facebook against his fiancé, he realized that Bokuto would no longer have Oikawa as an alibi. This was his chance to finally,  _ finally _ get a sweet and satisfying confession from Bokuto. Akaashi could finally know what has been stealing his fiancé's attention for so many years. 

 

Akaashi was never smug or pompous, but this was a long time coming. 

 

“Well, Koutarou. I’m waiting.”

 

He waited for his fiancé to stop scrolling and tapping on his phone (no doubt looking through all the pictures Oikawa was tagged in last night) so he could finally get the answers he  _ oh so deserved _ . But Bokuto didn’t stop scrolling, his eyes widening the more he tapped on the screen. Then he looked back up to the ravenhead, confusion laced through his face. 

 

“Is...is this real?” Bokuto asked. 

 

“Yes, and honestly, it’s been put off for far too long.”

 

“Wait, you  _ knew?” _ Bokuto asked, faint hints of accusation tracing his words. Unsure of what to make of his reaction, Akaashi wondered if they were still talking about the same thing. Bokuto’s brows furrowed and his gaze intensified.

 

“Knew what?” 

 

“About  _ this!” _ The pepper-haired man raised Akaashi’s phone and gripped it tight. He turned the device towards the ravenhead and shoved it close enough that Akaashi could see clearly. He immediately recognized the page that belonged to a magazine that appeared on his feed occasionally, but he didn’t understand what would make Bokuto so angry.

 

Then there it was, in big bold letters, a headline that read:

  
  


**_Oikawa Tooru & Ushijima Wakatoshi caught together in Salacious Act: _ **

**_Secret Love Affair or Fling?_ **

**_Two of Japan’s most Eligible Bachelors cause Uproar_ **

  
  


“What did you mean by ‘ _ it’s about time’? _ ” Bokuto said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, doing nothing to mask his hurt and accusative tone.

 

“No—that’s, that’s not what I meant at all, Koutarou,” Akaashi tried to reassure, “I thought we were still talking about the first picture on my feed. I’ve never seen that, really, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, you know that.” 

 

A few seconds passed before Bokuto drew a steady breath of relief. He nodded at Akaashi, relieving any tension that laid heavy only seconds ago.  

 

“I believe you,” he said. Akaashi returned a small smile. 

 

The ravenhead stared at the phone pensively, gliding his fingers down the screen as his fiancé held it in place. “They’re probably laying low right now,” he murmured, absently scrolling up and down his feed in search for any updates on the charismatic brunet or the stoic ace. 

 

Scrolling up, the photo of Oikawa at the birthday party came into view again, reminding him how this entire discussion started. He had almost forgotten. Akaashi looked up to lock eyes with his fiancé’s golden ones. The atmosphere was right, they both trusted each other, believed in each other. He wasn’t on the offensive anymore, he was on  _ his _ side. Bokuto should know that Akaashi would accept whatever he’s been doing all these years—they wouldn't be engaged now if not for that. He opened his mouth to again inquire his whereabouts last night, a calm, open expression gracing his features.

 

But almost as extreme as his mood changes, Bokuto threw Akaashi for a loop again when he straightened his back and said,  _ “I gotta' go.” _

 

He tossed Akaashi’s phone back before dashing to their bedroom. Akaashi quickly caught his phone and blinked in surprise, no idea what was happening. Bokuto ran out their room with his wallet in hand and pulled on his jacket. 

 

"Where are you going?" He followed, stumbling behind him until he got a hold of Bokuto’s elbow. The pepper-haired man turned to face him, forcibly stuffing his feet in his sneakers all the while. 

 

“I need to see them,” Bokuto stated, holding Akaashi’s gaze as he tried to walk towards the front door again. Akaashi, however, kept him in place.  

 

“No, Koutarou. Firstly, we were having a discussion—”

 

“Babe, I'm sorry, but I need to go to them!”

 

“—and secondly, I don’t think we have the right to interfere,” Akaashi tried to reason, “disturbing them now when things are so chaotic might do more damage than good.” Almost immediately, Akaashi saw unadulterated determination flash across in his fiancé’s expression.

 

_ “It won’t! _ We know what they’re going through right now, Keiji!” Bokuto countered, golden eyes blazing. Akaashi blinked, startled by the intensity of Bokuto’s words (and volume). Once he finally registered what Bokuto said, he understood what he meant, why his fiancé was in such a frenzy.

 

When Bokuto had first joined the National League, the backlash was troublesome for the couple. Bokuto was hassled by reporters and gossip columnist about their relationship instead of his standing on the team and Akaashi couldn't get to work without strangers sending stares his way. They had even gotten their share of hate mail and harassment due to their gay status together in the limelight. And though they pushed past that unfortunate period, they still had to be careful when Bokuto had games and events. And it was only thanks to Akaashi's self-awareness that he never allowed themselves to be remotely caught when it came to PDA. Akashi was too aware of the image Bokuto had to keep in order to be taken seriously as an athlete, and not just some cover story, because of their nature. 

 

But they never had a predicament where they were caught being affectionate on camera. 

 

"Plus they're our friends, ya know? I want to be there for them! And if anyone knows what kind of stuff they may be going through or being said about them, it's us! And, like, Noya. But he's not here til later this week!" 

 

He was overly passionate, that much was obvious. But as Bokuto kept talking, Akaashi felt all the annoyance from earlier melt away, only to be replaced with a soft warmth growing in his chest. This man—screaming in his face no less—was worried about his friend's happiness. Worried because he never wanted anyone to feel so mistreated like he did when he first joined the national team. 

 

Or feel as scared as when he came out to his intolerant family.

 

Realizing why Bokuto felt so ardent, the warmth spread throughout Akaashi’s body until a blush made its way onto his cheeks. 

 

He really was the luckiest person to find someone as kind and loving as his fiancé. 

 

“Kout—” 

 

“No Keiji, I’ll fight you on this, I really need to—”

 

"Koutarou, just—just listen, okay?" Akaashi finally interjected. He needed to calm his frazzled fiancé before he did something stupid in public. He knew he couldn't stop him from leaving, but hopefully, he could help simmer him down before he went to check on his friends. 

 

“What if I helped?” he asked. Bokuto tilted his head to the side as he blinked slowly, not understanding where Akaashi was going. The younger man smiled. “I can help Oikawa make a public statement. I’ve written yours, after all.” 

 

After a moment of neither men moving, Akaashi feared that his fiancé hadn’t heard him. He was about to repeat himself until he felt the crushing weight of Bokuto's arms wrapping around his waist as he was hoisted into the air. 

 

"KEIEIEIIEGHGHGJIIII!!!" Bokuto hooted as he began to spin them in circles, burying his head in the crook of Akaashi's neck. With a final inhale, he let got of the slimmer man, arms still wrapped around him. He gave the ravenhead a sheepish look, earning him another smile.

 

“So can I go break down their door now?”

 

"No," Akaashi stated, his smile growing a fraction when Bokuto began to pout, "but you may bother them if they go to practice. They might not appreciate you showing up at their place today. Okay?"

 

“Mmm, fine.” Bokuto moped half-heatedly. He then broke into a beaming grin before closing the gap between them and brushing their lips together. It only took a few seconds for them to deepen it, reaching around to hook their arms around each other. After a few moments, they broke apart, Bokuto newly determined. “I’ll just bombard them at the gym.” 

 

“Okay.” With one last peck, Bokuto headed off towards the front door, picking up his gym bag laying next to the door. With a silent wave, Akaashi watched as his husband-to-be left, feeling as in love with him as when they had first started dating. That feeling, however, only lasted until Akaashi turned around to see a lone box sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

 

He blinked, wondering what a box was doing out in the ope— 

 

Like lightning, it struck.

 

He had completely forgotten about his plan. And Bokuto had left without answering his question. But somehow, Akaashi had a sinking feeling that his fiancé knew exactly what he had just gotten away with. After all, what idiot goes to the gym while still nursing a hangover?

 

He turned back around, glaring at the door where his  _ better half _ had just escaped.

 

_ “That motherfucker.”  _

  
  


**Yachi**

  
  


“I’m worried about Iwaizumi-san.” 

 

Yachi Hitoka looked up from her plate to her longtime boyfriend, one blonde eyebrow raised high. She had stopped chewing on a piece of chicken as she tilted her head at his words. 

 

“Why?”

 

“He just seemed kinda out of it today. Frazzled—detached, but—I don’t know,” he sighed. “I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into it.” 

 

Yamaguchi Tadashi sat across from her at the small cafe located halfway between her office building and the hospital he worked at. They were regulars there and met up for lunch whenever they had the chance. They had their favorite orders and always sat on the same table for two by the street window. It had become a tradition to meet at least once during the workweek for lunch. A habit, a practice, a routine. And Yachi needed routine. 

 

“I can imagine, though. He must be worried. I mean, he’s really close with Oikawa-san, right?” she said, setting down her fork.

 

“Yeah, they’re best friends. Childhood friends—they’re like Tsukki and I,” the freckled man said contemplatively. The blonde blinked at his statement. 

 

She knew Tsukishima. Knew him well. She’s known him as long as she’s known Tadashi. So she knew what their friendship was like—full of silent understanding and lighthearted teasing. But when she thought of the friendship Iwaizumi and Oikawa shared—though also full of unspoken trust and loyalty, she did not think that their bond was... quite the same. The elements were similar, but the tones and hues were completely different.

“ _ Really _ ?” she questioned. “Like you and Tsukki?” 

 

Her breath hitched when she saw Tadashi quirk an eyebrow at her skeptical tone. Heat rapidly spread along her cheekbones as she went over her words. 

 

She did not mean for them to sound so accusing.

 

“No—I didn’t—I didn’t mean—” The blonde’s voice turned high and squeaky as sweat coated her palms. 

 

In her peripheral, she saw someone turn their head and she suddenly couldn't swallow. 

 

Yachi shook her head, fair hair whipping back and forth as her stomach frantically dropped. She didn’t mean to offend. A heaviness spread through her bones and the blood under her skin began to burn— 

 

A hand fell on top of her own, unknowingly clenched in a tight fist. As her eyes registered that the hand belonged to her boyfriend’s, the heaviness shrunk away and the heat dissipated. Her gaze rose up from their joined hands and was met with a gentle smile and speckled cheeks. Feeling a small squeeze on her knuckles, she let go of a breath that she didn't notice she was holding. Her body relaxed even further as her eyes finally met Tadashi’s, warm, henna-colored eyes filled with patience and understanding. He always looked like that when she had a moment. 

 

Another routine that they adopted—her moments of hysteria and his kind eyes. 

 

“I know,” he reassured her, his smile never wavering. “It’s fine. I wanna hear what you meant.” 

 

He did that so easily. Calmed her. He had been doing it since they were fifteen and budding friends. He never said anything to her with malice or ulterior motive. He knew she would overthink things sometimes and he had quickly figured out her jumpy demeanor wasn’t simply due to her shy and introverted personality. But he was a quick study and had eventually learned how to handle all of her quirks. Feeling less unnerved, she cleared her throat. 

 

“I, um, I just—I don’t know. I... always thought they seemed... _ closer.” _ She looked away, shame filling in the void that the panic left behind. She did that sometimes, just assumed things and drew conclusions about things or people. Yachi didn’t mean to do it, but it felt ingrained in her. She was usually wrong when she did. She would hear the harsh tone people would use when they corrected her, full of judgment and contempt at her naiveté. The green tint around her. So young, so foolish. So mistaken.  

 

"Hm, maybe—I don’t really know the specifics of their friendship, though." But Tadashi was always sweet and compassionate, he never mistook her unsure, tactless words for how she truly felt. He took her words objectively when she spoke of things she did not know. "But like you said, they are very close. He must have already known about Oikawa-san and Ushijima-san, so I didn't think that he would have been so shaken by the news."

 

Yachi was going to say that maybe Iwaizumi-san  _ didn’t _ know about Oikawa-san and Ushijima-san, but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions again. She was usually wrong. 

 

Tadashi looked down at his mug contemplatively. “He’s probably just worried about how it got out,” he mumbled, reasoning to himself. She kept her lips closed and nodded, keeping her silly thoughts to herself. Tadashi would not mind if she said them, but she did not want to feel embarrassment well up inside her, or the crushing unease that threatened to undo her. 

 

“Yeah. I’d be worried, too.”

 

He looked at her face, blinked at her odd expression and put on a smile for her. 

 

“Or maybe he’s worried about not being able to skip out on the mixer next week,” he said, teeth showing as he grinned. Her face lit up immediately at the mention of her boyfriend's work party, excitement spiraling through her. 

 

"I don't know why he would! I can't wait to go," she chirped. "It's been so long since I got to see your coworkers." Another routine of theirs was sharing stories from work when Tadashi got home after an all-day shift or after pulling an all-nighter to Yachi, who would be ready with a cup of tea. She would either sleep late with him or get up early to greet him, let him settle, and then listen to new stories and happenings at his work. And no matter how tired he was, Tadashi would stay up until he had no more to share. Eventually, she had learned of all the nurses and doctors through some anecdote or other. Though there were some things that she wished he would leave out sometimes. "But can we not go into another operating theater again, please?" she asked, her face paled at a memory she wished to forget.

 

Tadashi giggled at her change of demeanor.  "There wasn't  _ that _ much blood," he teased. She was about to retort—yes, there was, in fact _ , a lot _ of blood—when she saw him bite his bottom lip, looking like he didn't want to spoil something for her. He must have read her mind somehow because a grin broke out across his face. The grin of mischief and shenanigans. 

 

“What...?” she asked, a curious smile gracing her girlish features. He did not say anything for a moment, watching as her smile grew with more desire to know what he was up to. Finally, he gave in. 

 

"I've been scouting the hospital," he started, an easy twinkle in his eyes. Yachi's smile falters into a perplexed one, unsure of what to make of his words. 

 

“For what?”

 

“Men.”

 

Now she had no idea what he was talking about. Her mouth opened and closed, having trouble finding the right words. Seeing her confusion, Tadashi shifted his body closer, hovering above their food as he leaned in. She followed his example, leaning over until their faces were only inches apart. 

 

“I’ve been looking around the hospital for some possible suitors for Tsukki,” he whispered. 

 

_ “What?”  _ she squeaked. She quickly looked around, hoping no one was staring at her sudden yelp. Seeing no one looking their direction, her eyes quickly went back to Tadashi who was covering his mouth with his hand, trying his best to muffle his laugh. Mortified, she gave him a look urging him to elaborate. 

 

“What?” she repeated, almost pouting.

 

“I said,” he grinned, “that I’m looking around the hospital for men… for Tsukki.”

 

“For Tsukki? Like a  _ serious  _ one?” the blonde asked, intrigued. “I didn’t know he was coming.” Yachi knew of the ongoing battles Tadashi has had (and unfortunately has lost time and time again) with his oldest friend in regards to the blond’s dating habits.

 

“Yeah, I was able to convince him into going.”

 

Amber eyes widened.“How’d you manage that?” The paleontologist disliked social gatherings like these, always fighting off invitations from his friends with reasons like probable deaths, food poisoning, and the staining of expensive clothing. 

 

Her train of thought cut off as she watched Tadashi’s features falter and the edges of his mouth drop. Yachi was about to take back her question when Tadashi spoke, slowly and stilted, as if carefully choosing his words. 

 

“He just… had a bad day a few days ago. Just wants a change of pace, you could say.” 

 

The blonde remained quiet, eyes narrowing in contemplation. Yachi didn’t trust her instincts when it came to assuming things, but her gut was telling her that Tadashi was withholding some vital information. Not  _ personal information,  _ Yachi doesn’t want to unnecessarily pry, but information that was vital to exposing the root of Tsukishima’s problems. Information that should be unveiled before it caused any more damage. The words were still caught in her throat, though, and Tadashi continued speaking. “I thought it’d be a good idea for him to come with us.”

 

“Yeah, okay, but… does he know about you wanting to set him up?”

 

“Oh, of course,” he assured, his shoulders shaking as he giggled, a small smile returning to his face. “I would never make Tsukki do something he didn’t want to do.”

 

She nodded in agreement. Before Tadashi could change the topic, however, she pressed on.

 

“So, what happened?” The brunet blinked at her question, surprised by her sudden curiosity. 

 

“Uh, well, nothing serious,” he mumbled, looking away. Yachi pouted at his blatant lie, watching him scratch the back of his neck. 

 

“Really?” she urged. Tadashi looked back at her, looking like he was torn between telling her the truth or not. He let out a sigh. 

 

“No, but, it really isn’t my place to say anything,” he confessed. “I don’t know if Tsukki would be mad if I told you...”

 

“Oh, okay,” she said, nodding in understanding. With those words, she relented. She didn't want to push her luck. She didn’t have to know. In fact, it might just make her more anxious about the situation anyways. Besides, Tsukishima was adult enough to handle most things. If he was really in trouble, Tadashi wouldn’t hesitate to ask her for help. “That’s okay, then. I’m glad he’ll be coming with us all the same,” the girl said with a smile. Freckled cheeks returned her grin and his coffee-colored eyes glistened with softness once more. 

 

“Besides..” 

 

Tadashi raised his brows, waiting for her to finish. Her expression sharpened, eyes half-hooded and her curled up mischievously as she took a dramatic pause.

 

_ “I want in.” _

 

Next thing she knew, Tadashi was clutching his stomach as he cackled so hard that his lashes were lined with tears. She blushed at his reaction.

 

Before she could think the worst, he calmed down enough to answer her.

 

"No wonder I've had no luck finding someone," Tadashi hiccuped in between laughs. Yachi felt the hairs on her arms rise at his reaction, unsure of what to make of it. Just as she felt heat cloak her face and heaviness creep under her skin, his breathing slowed and the corner of his eyes crinkled. "I obviously need a partner in crime who knows what they're doing." 

 

She felt her ears grow hot at his praise. 

 

“Sorry for not asking sooner. I’m dense, sometimes. Forgive me?” the freckled man asked, his smile soft and his eyes kind. She felt her skin cool down and her muscles relax. Then she smiled back.

 

“On the condition that you let me help.”

 

“Deal.” 

 

She would help, and she would be useful. She was genuinely interested in helping Tsukishima get out of his shell and helping him look into a serious relationship for once could be her way of being there for him. And maybe in the process of helping him find someone amazing, they might even be helping him find love in his life. She was dreaming, she knew, but it was a nice thought. And she was eager to help. 

 

Tadashi couldn’t understand how much she just wanted to be useful. She didn't want to be a burden, and if Tadashi believed that she could be essential, she’d hold onto that. Even if she was never as good at intervening as her boyfriend, she wanted to try. Plus, she had back up. 

 

"And if we can't find anyone at the hospital, I know that Kiyoko-san would be willing to help with the search," she offered, a smile growing at the thought of her sempai. She would have mentioned how Kiyoko had good taste if not for the fact that she saw Tadashi's face falter once more. 

 

His jaw tightened and his eyes looked away from her. Before she could ask him what was wrong, he spoke first. 

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t mention this to Shimizu-san.” 

 

She might have grilled him for an explanation, but she felt a tightness in her stomach telling her that she would have another one of her moments if she didn’t let it go. She swallowed her intuition and chose to pretend that it was nothing.

 

“Okay, I won’t.” Maybe it was better to pretend. Maybe the feeling of dread in her bones was just her imagination. She saw him relax at her words and knew she had chosen right. As usual, she should keep her sense to herself. It was probably nothing. She was probably wrong. She usually was. 

 

But he loved her all the same. She knew he did. 

 

“But we should really be looking for someone who’s into dinosaurs, yeah?” he beamed. 

 

And so did she, especially when he would smile so sweetly to her. 

  
  


**Ushijima**

  
  


The air in the apartment had brimmed with unpleasantness that Ushijima had lost track of time. He looked at the digital clock displayed on the microwave oven reading half past noon. Figuring he had waited an appropriate amount of time before he could bring his boyfriend his lunch, the brunet stood from his chair by the small kitchen table and reached towards the counter where a turkey club sandwich and some strawberries cut into dysmorphic hearts laid on a tray. He carefully balanced the tray on one arm while grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and made his way to the guest bedroom. His socked feet carried him down the hall and stopped in front of the closed door. Ushijima looked down, lifting the tray in his hand to see a cold plate of oatmeal and toast still sitting on the hardwood floor where he had left it hours ago for his boyfriend. 

 

Oikawa loved breakfast. Ushijima tried not to think of how distraught the setter must be to have skipped his favorite meal. The wing spiker frowned at the now dismal-looking smiling face he had precariously arranged atop of the extra-sweetened porridge, the berries sunk in and colorless. Ushijima kneeled down, placing the new tray in front of the door and picking up the abandoned meal. He was about to turn back towards the kitchen but stopped to stare at the locked door. 

 

Oikawa had every right to be upset, but Ushijima felt confusion well into his veins—why did his boyfriend choose to barricade himself in his room rather than allow Ushijima to comfort him? Gathering some courage, the taller man straightened himself, one hand still carrying the forsaken breakfast as the other rose from his side and gently knocked against the cold wood.  

 

The sound felt foreign and piercing against the uncomfortable stillness that hung in the apartment. Ushijima waited for a moment before rapping against the door, louder the second time around. He was again met with silence. Figuring a direct approach might be more favorable, he cleared his throat. 

 

“Tooru, it’s Wakatoshi. I left you some lunch outside the door so… you should eat soon,” he said. Hearing no sound coming from inside the room, he leaned forward and tilted his head so his ear could rest against the door, hoping to catch any sign of life on the other side.

 

"May I come in?" he asked. He held back a sigh when no reply came. Oikawa probably wanted to be alone, but knowing his boyfriend was by himself (with his regrets, his self-deprecation, his demons) didn't sit well with the strapping ace. He was worried about the state of mind Oikawa could be in. Ushijima knew he could just break down the door, but he didn't want to jeopardize upsetting the auburn-haired man even further. 

 

“Tooru, I’ll cut up some more fruit since you must be famished. I know you can get cranky when you do not eat properly so I’ll make some miso soup as well.”

 

Silence. 

 

"Or I can make something sweet if you'd prefer." 

 

Finally, Ushijima could hear the faint sound of rustling blankets and a soft sniffle escape the room. Ushijima nodded to himself and accepted the small noises as some sort of approval. Without a second thought, he turned back down the hall into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards in search of sugar and flour. 

 

After scrummaging through the kitchen looking for ingredients, Ushijima started on a milk bread recipe that was  _ Tooru-certified _ . It had always helped brighten Oikawa up when he was upset. Carefully following the instructions he had long memorized precisely, Ushijima felt some of the anxiety and worry return as his body seemed to move of its own accord. 

 

The past 15 hours had been an emotional rollercoaster for the couple, starting with the perpetual controversy of where they stood in their relationship, to an amazing high point of mutual affirmation and love making, which then ended up crashing down after their run that morning. They had barely gotten home and briefly showered when the news started coming in. Emails, text, tweets, and calls blared their phones, all questioning them about what was going on. What was going on  _ between _ them. By the time the sun was beginning to rise, they had finally seen their picture broadcasted throughout dozens of online articles and news updates. 

 

Just seeing their picture on a public sight was enough for Oikawa. Before Ushijima knew what had happened, the setter had completely shut down and locked himself in his room and had been there ever since. Now, nearly six hours later, Ushijima was no closer to figuring how to get him to come out. 

 

After seeing the photo, it was apparent that someone at the bar last night had captured their private moment and had distributed it for all of the public to see. Ushijima was also very much aware of how rude he must have seemed have seemed to everyone who was trying to get in touch with him and Oikawa, but the spiker had reasoned that it wouldn't be a good idea to talk to anyone else about their predicament before he could discuss it with Oikawa first. Together, they would figure out what they wanted to say. 

 

Both he and his boyfriend usually handled the media with great finesse, but he didn't think that the dozen of reporters lurking at the entrance of his apartment building would allow them to talk their way out of their current circumstance. He did, however, call three people back. The first being his assistant coach to let him know that both he and Oikawa would be absent from practice that day. The second being his landlord, calling about the master key for their apartment. And the third being his father. 

 

The first thing his father told him was that he did not expect to find out about his relationship (and his  _ particular  _ taste) by some random article rather than directly from his own son. Ushijima expected a lecture from his father, but instead, the elder asked how he was coping with the onslaught of slander the young couple were dealing with. The phone call which would have normally lasted a few minutes of brief catching up and small talk had lasted an entire hour. His father was sour at first when he realized that his son had informed his mother of his relationship before him, but said he'd find a way to get over it (seeing as he was a fan of Oikawa's). Confused that his father had taken the news of his sexual orientation so well, Ushijima asked his father why he wasn’t more upset. The elder man had told him that there were worse things that his son could have ended up than being than gay. 

 

When he and Oikawa had decided to tell the people closest to them about their relationship, the only worry Ushijima had was that his father would not approve. After his phone call, however, the man finally felt the weight lift from his shoulders. Not only did his father accept their relationship, but they were now exposed for all the world to see. Though he knew that would come with its own problems, Ushijima couldn't help but feel relieved. 

 

Finally, they weren’t a secret. 

 

Finally, they didn't have to hide their relationship from anyone. This might not have been the way he wanted them to become public, but at least now they were. Never one to push or pressure his boyfriend, he allowed him to choose when they'd eventually disclose their status. 

 

But secretly, Ushijima knew the biggest obstacle in getting Oikawa to commit was about telling Iwaizumi. 

 

Oikawa was strong and proud and would eventually find a way to endure the backlash and take it in stride. The biggest hurdle would be having to reveal a lie that he had been keeping for so long to his best friend. A best friend who’d he’d always harbor feelings for. 

 

Even with Oikawa quarantining himself from the outside world and probably spiraling deeper into his insecurities and self-doubt, Ushijima felt a calm inside of him and—if he were honest—almost smug. He never wanted to feel like he had to compete for Oikawa's commitment (especially since Iwaizumi didn't even seem interested in fighting for the setter's affections and also because he didn’t think of his boyfriend as some trophy to be won) but he couldn't help but stop the sense of victory flow through him and reassure that he would endure whatever public slander he had to. Oikawa was worth it.  

 

Ushijima tried not to let his mind wander anymore as he kneaded the bread dough and arranged it neatly on a baking dish. He placed the dish in the oven when he finally heard his doorbell ring. He set the oven timer and slipped off his oven mitts before making his way to the front door. Unhinging the lock, he opened his door as his landlord stood outside with a stiff posture and roaming eyes that attempted to look into the apartment. 

 

“Hakugei-san, thank you for coming so soon.” 

 

"Oh, no problem, Ushijima-kun," he stated, "I'm happy to help in any way that I can." The older man had a strained smile and thinning hairline that had greyed with age. He was known for being a stickler for getting the rent on time but he was a reasonable man. The only issues Ushijima had with him was that he had one time berated Oikawa for overflowing the mailbox with fan mail and that he was a shameless gossip. 

 

“So… I couldn’t help but notice some photographers outside.”

 

“Yes, they are difficult to miss,” Ushijima deadpanned. 

 

“Mmm, yes, they are. I also read the strangest thing in the morning’s pap-”

"Were you able to find the master key, Hakugei-san?" He interrupted. He watched as the landlord gave a face before rummaging through his pocket and handing Ushijima a small key. 

 

"Thank you. Have a good day, Hakugei-san." Before the older man could utter a word, Ushijima had closed the door, turning the bolt and rehinging the lock. Ushijima looked down at the small copper key on his large palms that gave off a soft shine against the light. The colour reminded him of Oikawa's eyes. 

 

How his eyes looked like before a game, when they burned with determination—the fire turning his irises into a swirl of amber and orange.  

 

And when he was upset, unshed tears framing his glassy eyes—the whites of his eyes turning red as it’s surrounded a fusion of gold and bronze.  

 

Ushijima hoped he wouldn’t have to see the latter. He walked down the hall to the guest room once again. When he got to the door, he saw that the lunch he had prepared left outside still. Squaring his shoulder, he looked away from the tray of food and gently knocked on the wood. 

 

“Tooru, it’s Wakatoshi.” He received no answer. “I’m coming in.” Not waiting for a reply, the taller man positioned the piece of copper into the keyhole and turned, hearing a distinctive ‘click’ before pushing open the door. 

 

The room was dark, heavy curtains blocking the light from the window on the far wall. Ushijima had to squint before his eyes adjusted to the darkness. When his eyes finally started to readjust, he looked towards the bed placed on the corner of the room. There, he could only make out a lumpy mass hidden beneath layers of blankets and a comforter. He moved towards the bed slowly, not really sure what he was supposed to do. 

 

He stilled when he heard a small sob and saw the mountain of blankets start to shake softly. He scurried across the small distance to the bed and started to carefully peel away each layer of his boyfriend’s makeshift cocoon. 

 

He unwrapped each fluffy quilt and wool bedsheet, digging through until he reached a colorful blanket decorated with cartoon ufos and bright green aliens against a night sky backdrop. He tugged at the hem, slowly pulling it down to reveal a head of shaggy chestnut hair and puffy eyes. He moved forward so that he was above the setter, shifting his weight so that he was at a respectable distance. The smaller man’s nose twitched as he sniffled, eyes as glassy as Ushijima had feared.

 

"I didn't say you could come in, Waka-chan," he croaked, voice hoarse from crying all morning. Neither one moved, each caught staring at the other. Ushijima watched as his boyfriend's chin quivered slightly before he clenched his jaw. 

 

“Besides... I’m fine,” the smaller man muttered.

 

He wasn’t even half convincing with his blotchy cheeks and swollen lips from anxious biting. With little hesitation, Ushijima readjusted himself to lay down next to the setter, scooting closer to gather him in his arms. 

 

Oikawa briefly stiffened when Ushijima wrapped his arms around his back, holding him so that he rested against the larger man's chest, facing each other. The wing spiker held him tight as he rested his chin on top of his head, one hand resting on Oikawa’s side while the other slowly stroking his soft locks. 

 

“It’s okay,” Ushijima whispered. 

 

Ushijima continued his ministrations for what felt like hours. He heard the oven ding from the kitchen and the soft hum of the wind grow louder outside the window. Eventually, he felt his lover begin to shake in his arms as he felt tears bleed into the front of his shirt.

 

“You’re okay—shhh...”

 

It didn’t take long after that for the mild shaking to turn into violent jolts against him and his silent cries to turn into choked sobs that ripped through the dark. The back of his shirt wrinkled as Oikawa began to fist the fabric, his grip clawing against the ace’s muscles. 

 

“It’s going to be okay.”

 

The front of his shirt grew damp with tears and spit as Oikawa buried his face into his breastbone. His teeth left thin trails of saliva and his nose leaked snot as he opened his mouth to weep. Oikawa pressed into him as he tangled his legs with his boyfriend’s, brushing the back of Ushijima’s calves with his heels. 

 

“Shhh—I’m here. I’m right here.” 

 

All the while, Ushijima held him, tightening his hold when he felt Oikawa’s breathing come out fast and erratic. He began to wheeze against his collarbone, his body convulsing with each gasp. The larger brunet rubbed circles along Oikawa's back, humming soft words as he tried to help him calm down. 

 

“Breathe, Tooru.”

 

Cries would rip from the setter's mouth as he struggled to calm down, his body continuing to quake against Ushijima. The larger man removed the hand in his hair to wrap around Oikawa's neck, cradling his head as Ushijima moved lower to kiss his cheekbones and salty lashes. He kissed every inch of skin he could, bringing his lips to the setter's forehead down to his jawline.  

 

“Breathe.”

 

Slowly, Ushijima felt his shakes start to lessen and his breathing began to calm, a few hiccups escaping him. Oikawa's limbs slowly loosened as his sobs turned to broken exhales. His hands released Ushijima’s shirt but stayed against his back, keeping Ushijima close against him as he calmed his body down. Ushijima continued to rub between his shoulder blades, repeating soft whispers against his ear. 

 

“I’m right here, Tooru.”

 

Half an hour later, still wrapped in the ace’s arms, Oikawa’s breathing evened and quieted. He hid his face against the crook of Ushijima’s neck, breathing in the smell of mint from his shampoo. Neither one had moved from their embrace, nuzzling against the other in silence. Oikawa let out a low cough, clearing his throat as he moved slightly back to look Ushijima in the eyes. After a few blinks, a small, warm smile graced his handsome face. 

 

“Thank you,” he whispered, each syllable sounding like a sigh of relief in Ushijima’s ears. Ushijima nodded, glad that he did something right, and slowly started to move away to give the man some time alone. He faltered when he felt Oikawa tighten his embrace, stilling his movements. 

 

“No, I-I just want to stay like this. Just for a little while longer.” 

 

Ushijima felt his breath leave him. 

 

"You'll stay, right?" Oikawa pleaded. Ushijima blinked then shifted back close so that their foreheads brushed against each other. 

 

He'd stay as long as he could. To be wrapped in Oikawa's arms—to be with him—was all he ever wanted.  

 

“Always, Tooru.” 

  
  


**Iwaizumi**

  
  


When Iwaizumi opened his locker at the end of his second shift, the first thing he saw was the milk bread he stayed up making last night sitting pretty in tupperware. He planned to give to his best friend when he apologized after work—made with the same recipe he and Oikawa made up as kids. That was his plan when he first got to work at dawn. It was still his plan when he got to his rounds, during his morning consults, and after he scrubbed in on a patellar tendon autograft. He had planned to make amends even during his first coffee break when he first heard the rumour. 

 

That absurd rumour. So outlandish that he brushed it off.

 

At least he had planned to brush it off. 

 

Then he walked behind the nurse's station and saw the picture of his best friend's tongue down Ushiwaka's throat, wearing the same clothes he wore last night plastered on some newspaper amongst release forms and prescription slips. 

 

_ This isn’t funny. _

 

That was the first thing that crossed his mind. This was obviously some joke—some sick joke—directed at him. (He wouldn’t put it past Makki and Mattsun to be behind this. They must have paid a pretty penny for a prank of this scale). He was about to brush it off once again until he saw Mattsun go up to him, concern and confusion flooding his features. His eyes looked at Iwaizumi as if he half expected him to be a mess. 

 

_ This can’t be real. _

 

This can’t be real.

 

Oikawa  _ hated _ Ushijima. 

 

That was his second explanation. This couldn’t be real. This was obviously senseless gossip that some stupid tabloid magazine made up to get more readers. There were countless people who knew how to edit a picture to make it look like something it wasn’t. There were dozens of instances that Oikawa wore that same outfit. There could have been the smallest of chances that someone had a picture of Oikawa kissing someone else. Some other guy. Maybe one of the guys he’s dated before. There must have been some of the former Shiratorizawa captain too, surely. 

 

Then he read another article during his second break. An interview with a regular patron at the dingy bar who had given a quote to one magazine. An article saying that this regular had seen the couple before, countless of times. And had seen them leave together, countless of times. Seen them laugh, drink, mingle, and linger. Seen them walk in and out together, countless of times. Over the past two years. 

 

_ Two years. _

 

Iwaizumi kept calm, refusing to give his thoughts emotion. He put all his focus on work, meticulously going over his patients’ stats, supervising their rehabilitation sessions, and adjusting their nutrition plans and exercise regimens. He thought he was doing a good job at schooling his emotions—he would deal with all of that when he was in the safe confines of his home. But even through the rigorous day, there were still moments of quiet when his dreaded thoughts would return to haunt him.

 

And then he started to get looks. 

 

First was Mattsun, his posture rigid and expression calculating—ready in case Iwaizumi ended up destroying something. 

 

Then from Yamaguchi, who had offered an invitation for lunch with him and his girlfriend. He asked with such sincerity and gentleness that it felt like he thought the former ace would break down.

 

And there was Sugawara, who was more observant than he let on. He looked at him with such kindness and empathy, as if he was waiting for him to hide in some closet and collapse.

 

But he didn’t feel like doing any of that. He just felt shocked. He felt lost.

 

He felt responsible.

 

_ This is my fault. _

 

The thought haunted him throughout the day. He walked around the hospital and continued his duties with detached efficiency, his eyes blank and head down. He skipped lunch and got through his second shift. He helped another one of his patients through physical therapy and scrubbed in on two other surgeries. He finished some paperwork and scheduled post-op meetings. 

 

He got through his day. And now he was numb.

 

Iwaizumi stared at the pastry and his heart sank. He didn't feel like hitting something or running to Oikawa for an explanation. He didn't feel like questioning whether or not Ushiwaka was a fling or if some of the magazines were right to assume that there was more between them. 

 

He already knew there was. 

 

Iwaizumi tore his gaze away from the treat and pulled out his clothing from his top shelf. He pulled his scrubs off above his head slowly, stretching his limbs and groaning as his shoulders blades popped. Pulling off his pants, he bundled the scrubs up and dropped them inside. He dressed quickly, packed his bag and turned his cell on. 

 

He glanced at his notifications and saw he had 34 text messages and 6 missed calls. 

 

No doubt about Oikawa. 

 

He was supposed to be texting Oikawa right now about making it through his shifts and questioning if the chestnut-haired man was properly warming down from practice. They were supposed to be talking about the setter's bi-annual tour coming up next month. They were supposed to be making plans. 

 

Turning it off again, he swung his bag over his shoulder and quickly snatched the milk bread before he closed his locker. He stuffed the tupperware into his bag and pulled on his gloves, wrapping his scarf around his neck before he walked out of the resident’s changing room. 

 

After his short trek to the station, he stood on a crowded platform full of Tokyo's workforce waiting for their train home. He looked up at the digital prompter and realized he'd have another half an hour on the platform due to delays. He turned forward, shoulder slumped, and tried not to think about it all. About Oikawa. 

 

Before, he could always privately indulge in his thoughts and his fantasies about the chestnut-haired man. None ever included another man. Especially not Ushijima. 

 

When the train finally arrived, he boarded the car with dozens of other people. He held onto the rail above his head, struggling with the waves of people crashing around him, suffocated in the heat of people who were going on with their lives—unaware of how quickly his was crumbling before them. His hand gripped the rail until his knuckles turned white, yet he still didn’t let up. All the numbness from earlier heightened his current ache and his confusion.  

 

Why him?  _ Why him? _

Oikawa hated his roommate. He loathed Ushijima. Always had. They joked about it all the time. Iwaizumi couldn’t wrap his brain around it. Couldn’t fathom how he could have missed something so bizarre, so unimaginable if it were true. But his gut knew the truth and it didn’t make his chest hurt less.

 

Two years. Two years was a long time. A lot could have happened in two years. Two years full of memories and moments between the two teammates. Iwaizumi wondered how he missed them all. Wondered _ if  _ he missed them all. 

 

But he and Oikawa had their moments too. 

 

When they would talk late, even if one had an early practice and the other had a graveyard shift. Their scheduled trips to their hometown together to see their family, casually meeting up together to commute back home. Their constant lunches, their group outings where they'd be paired together, their shared jokes and past history. 

 

Those times when they accidently catch the other looking at them in all the wrong ways...and all right ways. Their breaths heavy and their throat dry, longing and fervour perfuming the air between them. But looking back, Iwaizumi remembered moments that he should have paid closer attention to. 

 

Like when Oikawa would always check his phone for messages when they would catch up or grab drinks. (Who would he be messaging?)

 

Or how he rarely accepted Makki's invitations to go out anymore because he said that he wanted to stay home. (Why would he want to stay home?)

 

That time that he insisted that Iwaizumi didn’t need to check up on him when he had the flu. That he was in good care, he said. (Who was taking care of him?)

 

Early summer when he showed up at his front door crying, holding onto Iwaizumi until the former ace could calm him. (What was he so upset about?)

 

A few weeks ago when they went to lunch...and he looked like he wanted to say something. (What did he want to tell me?)

 

Last night. (Why didn’t he tell me?) Last night… when Iwaizumi had interrupted him.

 

_ What did you want to tell me? _

 

When Iwaizumi finally made it to his apartment complex, he was surprised to see Makki and Mattsun waiting outside of his door, a bag of take-out hanging off the ravenhead's arm. Iwaizumi twisted his bag forward and opened the zipper, trying his best to ignore his homemade milk bread still stuffed in his bag as he rummaged for his keys. 

 

“‘Bout time!” Mattsun called out. When Iwaizumi reached them, he gave a quick nod before pushing his key in and opening his front door. He left it wide open for his friends as he dropped his bag against the side wall and took off his sneakers. He heard the other two close his door behind them and remove their coats and shoes as well. 

 

“What are you guys doing here?” Iwaizumi asked. He noticed how quickly the two looked at one another in earnest, then looked back to him—their smiles too forced and their disposition too cautious. 

 

“We just thought we'd stop by and hang,” Makki stated, “y'know since we couldn't really talk last night much.”

 

“On account of you being completely fucked last night,” Mattsun teased his boyfriend, receiving a playful elbow to his side. They drew smirks from each other at the memories of last night, how happy they had been to see all their old team together.  

 

Before it all went to shit for Iwaizumi. 

 

They turned back to him and Mattsun lifted a bag in his hands.

 

“We brought udon.”

 

Eventually, they all huddled around his small dining table, slurping warm noodles and downed it with cold beer. Iwaizumi could hear a soft humming coming from his friends, their conversation sounding hazy against his ears—muffled and far away. He focused on his chopsticks and chewing. He tried not to pay attention to the couple. The perfect, happy couple who were lucky enough to be with each other before something got in the way. 

 

He wondered if he pushed Oikawa into Ushijima's arms. Or if the star wing spiker had just waited in the shadows for the opportune moment to sweep the incandescent setter off his feet. He wouldn't put it past Ushiwaka (who Iwaizumi had always thought had too much of an intense fascination with his best friend for his own good). 

 

"...who knew?" he heard. Iwaizumi looked up and caught his friends looking at him as if waiting for an answer.

 

"Sorry. Didn't catch that," he mumbled, catching the way the couple glanced at each other quickly, before returning their stiff grins his way. 

 

“I said thank you for my gift,” Makki repeated, some playfulness coming back into his voice, “I’m pleasantly surprised, though. Didn’t think you’d know me well enough to get me something so naughty, Iwaizumi.”  

 

"Your disgusting boyfriend gave me a list," he drawled. He looked back down to his noodles, choosing to ignore Makki's teasing. "It had nothing but sex toys and cringey contraptions that I really didn't want to look at, so I just got the most G-rated sounding thing."

 

“It is a pretty vanilla plug,” Makki smirked, “but thank you, nonetheless.”

 

"I like the one Oikawa got you better, though," Mattsun mentioned to his other half, sipping his beer. "I gave him a much more extensive list." They laughed, and Iwaizumi was trying not to let his face show at the mention of his best friend. 

 

"Well, yeah," Makki grinned into his bowl, "Oikawa actually knows his way around that shit." He slurped his noodles and Mattsun followed suit. Neither of them saw Iwaizumi’s eyes widen marginally, the blood rushing to his ears and sending sharp echoes through his skull. 

 

Maybe another time, maybe under different circumstances, Oikawa knowing his way around that stuff might have excited the former ace. But he felt ill at the questions it led to, the questions floating violently inside his head.

 

Did Oikawa use those things with other men—his amber eyes challenging, joints limber and legs twitching while he stuffed himself? 

 

Did he let Ushijima see him like that too—his body flushed and wanton, voice breathy and skin supple?

 

Did he crawl on his hands and knees until he could look up and stare at the man with fire-seared eyes—the same eyes that kept Iwaizumi awake at all hours of the night? 

 

Did he ever let Ushijima have his way with him? 

 

Did he tilt his head back and let the other man scrape his teeth against his long, smooth neck—leaving bites and saliva in his trail—as he eased down on the man and give in to the sensation of being full?

 

Did Oikawa think about asking Iwaizumi to touch him instead?

 

Did Oikawa ever imagine him instead of Ushijima holding him? (Touching him? Kissing him? Groping him? Whispering in his ears as he filled Oikawa up with nothing but him—nothing but history, and friendship, and absolute regret—and made tears spill out his lashes as Iwaizumi kissed all the past away?)

 

Did Oikawa know what he was doing to him? With the thought of him finding happiness somewhere else? With someone else? 

 

Could he hear his heart breaking from so far away?

 

“...aizumi. Earth to Iwaizumi.” He snapped his eyes up, watching Mattsun’s hand wave in front of him. He looked between the couple, their eyes full of misplaced concern.

 

“Sorry,” he said. He couldn’t focus anymore. His imagination suffocated him. All his efforts of trying not to think about it—think about this horrible, gut-wrenching revelation—had caught up. 

 

"I'm sorry guys, could we—could we do this some other time?" Iwaizumi asked, dropping his head and looked at his hands on his lap, his grip on his pants taut. "I had a long shift today..." After a moment, Iwaizumi heard chairs scraping against the wood of his floors. 

 

"Yeah, of course, man. We'll...see you later," Mattsun said, his voice slicing through the thick tension. Iwaizumi dragged his chair back, got up and offered to walk them out. He heard Makki mention the mixer next week and Mattsun patting his back with the promise of seeing him at work. He barely registered the condolent looks his friends gave him as they said their final goodbyes and walked out his door. 

 

He stood in place and wondered why he didn’t feel better now that he was alone. Alone with his thoughts and his self-pity. Without anyone. 

 

Without Tooru. 

 

Iwaizumi stood still until he felt an itch on his cheek. He lifted his finger, brushing along his face until he touched something wet, realizing that he started to cry. He turned, looking around for a tissue box that he left laying around and spotted his bag. Opened. Peeking from the zipper was the plastic container that he had tried to forget about all day.

 

Forgetting his shame, he took two steps towards his bag and pulled out the tupperware. He opened it slowly, letting the plastic drop on the ground loudly and grabbed the milk bread firmly in his hands.

 

He used the same recipe that he and Oikawa made up together. Made with remorse and years of regret. Made with Iwaizumi's hands—the same ones that used to run through Oikawa's locks, that used to shake with nerves when he lifted the setter's shirt late at night, that used to hold his best friend's head in place as he pressed their lips firmly against the other. The same hands that always clenched into fists when he realized he couldn't do any of those things anymore.

 

He tightened his hold on the bread until he saw crumbs dropping onto the wood. Crumbling, falling apart in front of him. Like everything else. 

 

His breath came out shallow and his eyes stung with salt. He drew his hand holding the bread back and threw it across his apartment, flaky pieces exploding when it hit a wall. His throat hurt, and it wasn't until the blood ceased rushing through his ears that he realized he was screaming. 

 

It sounded inhuman. It sounded ugly and damaged.

 

When he stopped screaming, drool dripped from his lips as his body broke into sobs. His chin quivered fiercely and he struggled to calm down. He scraped his nails through his hair, his wailing coming out in broken breaths and his chest hurting. His ribs felt choked and his heart was aflame. 

 

“Fuck!”

 

He grabbed the next closest thing—a vase his aunt gave him for a housewarming gift—and threw it across the room, porcelain falling everywhere. 

 

“Fuck!”

 

He grabbed a wooden baseball bat that was leaning on the coat closet—the one he kept if some unlucky asshole tried to break into his place—and swung. 

 

His picture frames, his signed soccer poster from when he was a kid, his college diploma—none were safe from his swing. He used all his might, twisting his muscles and core until he heard nothing but shattering glass. And he didn't stop. Not when he felt the plaster of his wall crack on impact, or when he brought down his chandelier in the hallway. He didn't see the broken lamp or the smashed wall clock or battered coat hanger. He couldn't see past the wetness in his eyes and couldn't feel anything but pain. He couldn’t hear anything but splintering wood coming off his bat as he continued to destroy everything around him—like he always seemed to do. 

 

_ “Fuck!”  _

 

He brought his bat down on his glass coffee table, sending sharp shards all over his living room rug and floor. He opened his eyes, his sobbing still ripping his lungs apart. He was about to smash his dining table to smithereens but then he felt his legs give out, dropping his knees on glass and debris. 

 

Too helpless to care and too weak to get up, he dropped his bat. Despite his aching limbs and heavy thoughts, he could still feel a fire inside him that needed to get out. He still burned, he still hurt. He clenched his hands into fists and started to beat his knuckles bloody against his floor. 

 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!  _ Fuck!  _ **_Fuck!”_ ** he cried, his hands stinging and stained with blood. His fist flew fast, dripping red and cut with glass. But he didn't stop, not for a long time. Not until he felt his arms spasm from pain, his hands twitching from the burn of bruised knuckles and scarred skin. 

 

Being a doctor, he knew the damage he had done. He just didn't care. His weeping grew low and his body caved into itself. He brought his forehead to the ground and felt his body jerk with each breath he could strangle out. Soon his cries came out in moans, his mouth twisted. His body felt like it was drowning, unable to hold a steady stream of air.  

 

"Fuck," he moaned. He brought his gory hands to his face, covering his eyes as he wept incoherently and sunk further into himself until he was a ball of agony and suffering. His tears spilled and mixed with blood, staining the floor and painting the broken shards. 

 

He was so tired, in so much pain. Had been for years. But he never faltered, because he always had something to look forward to. He always had his future to look forward to. 

 

With Tooru.

 

He sobbed lowly and his shoulder shook haphazardly. 

 

"Fuck."

 

What felt like forever passed before he stopped sobbing, yet tears continued to spill. He tasted bile on his tongue and wondered if it was regret. Or emptiness. Or kismet. 

 

Or maybe he was finally reaping what he sowed, finally grasping at the effect of his past mistakes and oversight. He was facing the consequences of his stupidity and had driven the only thing he ever wanted into another’s arms. 

 

The eyes he had always caught from across the room—filled with so much love—would now look past him. 

 

The last of his whimpers died out as night fell and his eyes closed, his body slumped onto the floor. He laid over broken glass, with broken skin, in his broken apartment. The last thing he remembered was Oikawa face the night before, with his sincere expression of worry and hope. Like he had wanted to say something important.

 

_ What did you want to tell me? _

  
  
  


**Bonus:**

**Hanamaki and Matsukawa**

  
  


They didn't say a word when they first walked out, both silently agreeing that they should wait outside for a while before they leave. Then they heard something light fall. Unsure of the noise, Matsukawa had one hand on the doorknob, ready to barge in at the first sign of trouble, when Hanamaki gripped his wrist firmly. 

 

The taller man looked at his longtime boyfriend, confused. Hanamaki shook his head, intuition telling him that Iwaizumi had to go through this hardship, this dilemma—this turmoil that was spilling out of him—on his own. With just a look, Matsukawa relented. 

 

Then they both jumped out of their skin when they heard Iwaizumi scream. It was blood-curdling and vulgar. They heard his voice crack and end in a crude growl. They thought it would never end. When it finally did, they had little time to relax until they heard the first of many curses and the start to the sympathy of shattered glass and splintered furniture. 

 

It took an hour until the couple heard silence from the other side of Iwaizumi's front door. They were slumped on the floor against the wood with their head resting against it. Even in silence, they had no peace.

 

For them, there was nothing harder than hearing your friend self-destruct. Nothing at all.

 

* * *

  
  
  
**Next Chapter: Confident**   
  
Tsukishima, Hinata, Oikawa, Kenma, Kiyoko, Kuroo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DON'T HATE ME.
> 
> I'm pretty sure I just don't know how to write happiness.   
> ಥ_ಥ
> 
> Please still consider leaving me some love. 
> 
> ~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Kudos~
> 
> ~The Hive in June~


	8. Confident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! 
> 
>  
> 
> So, let’s start with me apologizing for taking months to update. (Six months to be exact. Taking half a year to update a chapter was not my intention and not a pattern I’m going to fall into, I promise.) Life got busy and my spare time grew scarce. But I was determined to get this out before the end of July! ( I wanted to get this out before my vacation to AnimeX, but still wasn’t completely happy with it yet) To make up for the lack of material these past few months, I give you over 40k+ words of angst, drama, lovely fluff, and FINALLY getting some of them to get their shit together. 
> 
> Also, I took the liberty of going back and fleshing out and revising some of the past chapters (Boy, some chapters were just ROUGH.) and to clear some things up. (You guys got that Akaashi is a publicist, right? Right? If not, please let me know so I can make that clear. That, amongst other things might have gotten lost in translation.)
> 
> Anyways, the true heroes of this chapter: Booze, the importance of keeping your eyes on the road, lots of mentions of pizza, more crying than was necessary, more booze, Sumi-chan (may she rest in peace), drinking games, internal rambling, more mentions of pizza, text messages, friends meddling because they really do care (and are probably so done with you), internal pep-talks, boys being so EXTRA, bad disguises, SHITx3=Kuroo, and even more BOOZE.  
> (You’ll understand after you read the chapter.)
> 
> And that’s all you need to know going into to this. That, and I work my beta, bubblesandwich, like I’m running a one woman sweatshop so a huge shout out to her. 
> 
> Enjoy. Leave love.

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_Chapter 1: Certainty_

_Chapter 2: Caution_

_Chapter 3: Concessions_

_Chapter 4: Comforts_

_Chapter 5: Concurrence_

_Chapter 6: Conviction_

_Chapter 7: Consequences_

**Chapter 8: Confident**

 

_Of where you stand_

_On making a move and moving on_

* * *

 

 

**_February 4_ **

 

**Tsukishima**

 

To reiterate, Tsukishima enjoyed staying late in the lab. It allowed him to enjoy his workspace with the luxury of lax rules and proper alone time. He would wear his headphones, bring food inside the lab, and lounge around on his phone. Yes, he might have sometimes taken advantage of the freedom, but he still managed to get a lot of work done during his overtime at the museum. However, what really sold Tsukishima on the splendor of staying after hours was the fact that he didn't have to be around his coworkers. Especially his desk mate.

 

For some unfathomable reason, Negishi Tatsuhiko, a portly, irritating man in his early twenties who just so happened to sit next to him, actually thought that he and the aloof blond were _friends._

 

Negishi's hair was the colour of burnt bread and his cheeks resembled that of a chipmunk harvesting acorns for winter. He always carried around a pocket protector, had a spare handkerchief with him at all times, and really had a thing for trashy American reality television. These were the things Tsukishima couldn't care less about, but somehow during his year working next to the man, the blond had absorbed all this useless information through either osmosis or alchemy. He wasn't sure yet.

 

Negishi would often invite him out for lunch, or drinks, or just to hang out. Tsukishima had tried every which way to convince the geologist that he was just as unpleasant as everyone thought he was. But instead of running for the hills, like any _sane_ person would, the irritatingly oblivious man had decided to try even _harder_ to convince Tsukishima that they were more than just two coworkers who shared the same lab desk.

 

The former middle blocker might have been more irked about the whole ordeal if he hadn't had to put up with Hinata throughout all of high school...and college. Negishi was just as loud and obnoxious as the itty-bitty ginger. The only difference was that he was forced to deal with his colleague at work (and the fact that Negishi was taller than Hinata, but who wasn't).

 

And try as he might, the blond just couldn’t dissuade him from his delusion.

 

If anything, it only made the other boy more forceful.

 

“No.”

 

“Tsukishima! Come on! It’s fun, I swear.”

 

“Doesn’t change my answer,” the blond huffed as he crossed his arms, uncaring of the pout Negishi was sporting.

 

“What are you two going on about?”

 

They looked up to see their fellow intern, biological-anthropologist-in-the-making, Aoki Chitose, giving them a curious gaze from her lab table across from them. Well, not really a gaze, more of a stare. At Tsukishima more so than Negishi (she did that from time to time, just stared at the blond).

 

Unlike his desk mate, Aoki was one of the few coworkers that had grown on the former middle blocker since he started his fellowship a year ago. In fact, she and Tsukishima had started their internship on the same day as each other. They were cordial and professional enough that they had formed a sort of acquaintanceship within the first few weeks of working together, and in that time, Tsukishima had gotten to know her well. She was smart, ambitious, and focused.

 

And she was pretty. _So pretty,_ in the softest of ways.

 

Aoki had fair skin and shiny dark hair that fell down to her shoulders like a waterfall made of rich silk. She dressed in skirts with tights every day, was taller than most girls, and always wore the ugliest sweaters you could imagine. At first glance, you might have never noticed her at all, but when you looked closely at her face you would catch a glimpse of the small dimples that adorned her cheeks and how her eyes weren't just green but polished jade. They would glisten behind thick-framed glasses and delicate lashes that kissed her cheekbones with each blink.

 

Tsukishima had known some beautiful women in his life, but he liked the quiet sort of beauty Aoki had more. He liked the small humble details that would enamor a person more than the obvious radiance that stunning people would give off.

 

“Tsukishima won’t join us for trivia!” Negishi whined. The tall blond just frowned at his desk mate, wondering why he thought that Tsukishima would join in the first place.

 

“Awe, c’mon, Tsukishima-kun. You should join!” Aoki agreed. Tsukishima furrowed his brows in her direction, wondering why she wasn’t on his side. She was usually reasonable like him. Understanding his silent question, she smiled, her dimples prominent.

 

“I’m on the team,” she clarified.

 

“You guys have a _team?”_ he scoffed, wondering why anyone would willingly be part of any team with Negishi, let alone a trivia team. The portly man was smart, sure, but he was so _unbearably_ annoying. He thought Aoki would’ve shared the same sentiment, seeing as she usually did with the blond.

 

"Of course we do. It's really fun," she said, turning her chair fully to face them. Tsukishima could now clearly see today's choice of ugly sweater with her unbuttoned lab coat. It was bright red knit with white stripes running vertically across her torso, enhancing her small frame as the hem bunched up loosely around her midriff. And in the middle was a large, stylized black cat with a fish hanging in its mouth. Sitting pretty with its prize, looking so cavalier.

 

The resemblance was just so apparent, the blond couldn't look away. It was almost like the universe was, once again, using Tsukishima as some sort of guinea pig experiment for how much emotional torture one man could take. Either that or his tumor was growing again ( _he should really talk to a neurologist about that soon_ ). Tsukishima didn’t even realize he was glaring until Aoki raised her hands in front of her defensively.

 

“Alright, jeez. No need for that face, you don’t have to join if you really don’t wanna,” she urged. Thrown off, he looked up to her face, catching her eyes twinkling back at him. She seemed dazed for a couple of seconds, just staring back at him with a glint he wasn’t sure what to make of, when she snapped out of it and awkwardly raised her pointer fingers to her cheeks and shifted her face into a smile, silently advising he do the same. He sighed, instead quirking one side of his mouth as he resisted pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Sorry, it’s just…”—it’s just that he had _finally_ stopped thinking about _him—_ “It’s just that I’ve officially decided that today’s sweater is by far the ugliest one. I really just _hate_ it.”

 

“That’s just uncalled for, Tsukishima-kun.”

 

"I wish it were," he replied, his sly smile growing at his empty taunt. She just shook her head, joking that he was officially uninvited to the team much to Negishi's protests. To her left, directly in front of Negishi's workstation, sat her desk mate, Fukasawa Yayoi, who decided to speak up, eyes still peering through a microscope.

 

“Can you two stop flirting, please? Some of us are actually trying to work,” she sang, a wide smile stretched across her beautiful face.

 

The in-house mineralogist fellow was, by far, the most annoying of all his coworkers. She would constantly ask him about his famous friends, was pushy, intrusive, and always liked to stir the pot. She was also unfairly beautiful, with aristocratic features and a perfect figure that was both petite yet curvy. Light brown hair framed her porcelain face, long waves cascading down her back. Her dark piercing eyes gave her a smoldering look that worked on almost all men.

 

Almost.

 

Tsukishima didn’t care for her in the slightest. Like all of the interns who were invited for research at the museum, she was brilliant, but he still couldn’t stand it when she opened her mouth, vulgarities and blabber breaching his patience. Especially since half of the things that came out of her mouth were said in hopes of making the blond blush.  

 

What she didn’t seem to understand was that Tsukishima was immune to her witchcraft. However, all the embarrassment he didn’t feel would ricochet and catch on to Aoki, who had turned red from the other girl’s comment.

 

“We weren’t flirting,” Aoki mumbled, lithe fingers picking at the cuffs on her sleeves. The drop-dead brunette turned from her work, her red painted lips curved in a leer that grew with mischief. _The same red shade as the Nekoma jerseys_. Tsukishima closed his eyes, already losing his will to live.

 

“Oh? I could have sworn you said you were finally gonna—”

 

"NO! No! Um, what, that's not wh—" Aoki cleared her throat, "I-I was just saying he should join, was all. But he refused." Fukasawa flipped her long hair away from her face to get a better view of the aloof blond, chocolate brown eyes running up and down his form.

 

“Oh whatever, we don’t even need him,” Fukasawa said nonchalantly, turning back to the other girl, “unless we just want him to join for other _reasons…”_

 

“What! No! Just go back to whatever you were doing Yayoi-san,” Aoki huffed, turning back in her chair and burying her face into her paperwork. Fukasawa laughed, waving her hand and reassuring that she was only teasing.

 

Tsukishima tried to drown out the sound of her voice but it was so obnoxious that he couldn’t hear himself think.

 

He opened his eyes, golden hues watching Fukasawa scoot closer to the taller girl, whispering something that Tsukishima couldn’t make out clearly. The chestnut haired girl kept sending glances his way, so he could only guess that whatever Fukasawa was saying, it was about him. But watching the vixen was distracting. Which was perfect. If he just continued to focus on her he wouldn’t need to get caught up in his stupid thoughts abou—

 

“Hey, where’d Hatsutori-chan and Meshizuka-kun go?” Negishi asked, looking at his wristwatch with a puzzled expression. Tsukishima knew exactly where the biochemistry pair had run off to, taking full advantage that their supervisor left home early today and gave them Friday off. _Maybe I should just leave early, too_. As the thought ran passed his mind, he watched Fukasawa look at the geologist with the most deadpanned face she could muster.

 

“Where do you think?”

 

“Did they go check on the new shipment again?”

 

“Yup, you know them. They just _love_ inventory," Fukasawa winked. Negishi was lost to the implication, looking at Tsukishima for an explanation. Apparently, Negishi was smart on all things earth science but didn't have a clue on reading the room or taking a hint. However, the blond's attention was stuck on Fukasawa, and her provoking, loathsome, haughty grin. God, he hated it.

 

Kuroo grinned the same fucking way.

 

The blond clicked his tongue, closing his eyes in defeat. He was doing so well! _There goes my new record. What was that? Five hours? Six? It felt like less. Ugh, god, this is stupid._ Tsukishima suppressed a groan as he reset his internal stopwatch back to zero. _Officially zero stupid hours and zero goddamn minutes and zero motherfucking seconds since I thought of Kuroo fucking Tetsurou...This really shouldn't be this hard._

 

Reasonably, it really shouldn't be this hard not to think of his former mentor. It had already been two weeks since they had hooked up and any normal person would have forgotten about it by now. For crying out loud, any normal person would have moved on four years ago! Four years was more than enough time to forget.

 

So where the fuck did he go wrong?

 

He claimed shenanigans on the universe, reasoning that he should have been allowed to throw away all the unwanted feelings he ever held over the years for the former Nekoma captain. Because four years was plenty of time to remend his heart, so he really didn’t know why he still couldn’t stop thinking about him. Or about that night.

 

About how familiar it all felt; his smile, and eyes, and hair, and laugh. How he left bruises on Tsukishima’s hips and how he stretched him out like no one had in years. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Kuroo looked at him that night, his eyes completely blown out and focussed on him the whole time. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect the older man looked sprawled out on his bed in the moonlight, sweaty and panting as the blond rode him into fucking nirvana. And oh God, his voice—how was Tsukishima suppose to not think about the way the ravenhead moaned his name like a homily? Huh? Or how he kept kissing every inch of him like a man possessed. It’s been impossible to forget.

 

It was impossible to forget how quickly the older man had put on his clothes and how quickly he disregarded the blond. How could he forget how Kuroo easily walked back out of his life like he meant nothing at all?

 

Again.

 

_Jesus Christ, not even four seconds! Couldn’t even go FOUR DAMN SECONDS without thinking of that asshole. What is WRONG with me? Holy hell, I just want to maul something right now. Anything. Ugh, but Fukasawa is all the way over there. I would have to go over the table just to reach her. But, there’s always Negishi, and he’s right next to_ —

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Tsukishima opened his eyes to see Aoki looking at him with a worried expression. He hadn't even realized that Fukasawa and Negishi were now talking to the pixie-haired Hatsutori and Meshizuka who had walked back into the lab (looking less than put-together). The light haired man ignored Fukasawa's obvious teasing as Hatsutori tried her best not to blush. The blond turned back to the anthropologist, catching the small blush that was beginning to form on her face from being caught staring. Again.

 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just trying to light your sweater on fire with sheer will.”

 

She rolled her eyes, her smile blooming across her face like spring.

 

Even her smile was pretty.

 

Tsukishima was quick to catch onto the fact that he observed the taller girl so intently as of late. He knew why, too. Out of all his coworkers, Aoki reminded him most of Kuroo, in the smallest and gentlest ways.

 

The rest of the interns were obvious traits of the older man, oozing with annoying similarities; Fukasawa with her vexing arrogance, Negishi with his optimistic audacity, and the chemistry that reeked off Hatsutori and Meshizuka. But he knew the older man beyond the persona that he showed everyone else.

 

Aoki though...she was the bits and pieces. She wasn’t the noticeable features of the man, but his quirks. Those were the habits that drew the blond in.

 

When he looked at her as she worked, Tsukishima saw how she would constantly move around, never being able to stay still. Kuroo was the same way. Or that she had detached earlobes like the older man, and liked to pinch them between her fingers when she got bored. Kuroo only did that when he was irritated. Aoki would sometimes brush her knuckles across her lips like how Kuroo use to do when he got stressed out during exam time. And they both also drank their tea lukewarm because they always burned their tongues.

 

Aoki was as pretty as Kuroo was radiant. And they both liked talking to him, and teased how little he ate, and always knew how to adjust around his moods. And they both watched Tsukishima from the corner of their eye when they thought he wasn’t looking.

 

But it wasn’t the same.

 

Not Aoki, not any of the other men that he’s dated, not any of the other people he’s tried replacing the older man with.

 

Maybe it was because Tsukishima never really dropped all his walls for anyone else. He wasn’t an open book that was easy to read—he was a marginless heavy text filled with riddles and conundrums that made people too dizzy to even want to turn a page. He was so dense with cynicism that he never let his guard down. He was challenging.

 

Yet, he had no idea when he had allowed this cocky, provoking, pain-in-the-ass rival captain to meddle his way through all of Tsukishima’s defenses and take a hold of him.

 

When did he allow himself to hold on to the hope that this earnest, charming, kind man could return his feelings? _Him_ of all people, with his awkward indifference to the world and his chip on his shoulder. Why would Kuroo fall for someone so unsuitable like Tsukishima?

 

_Maybe he just saw me as a challenge._

 

The blond wished he could go back in time and give himself a reality check. But in the end, it didn't matter, because he couldn't go back.

 

So he watched at a distance and looked for the man through other people. He looked for good company from other men and looked for pretty radiance from Aoki. Looked for people with good stories, easy confidence, and open hearts. Looked for clever banter and cheshire smiles, for obnoxious laughter and smoldering looks. For rough hands and wild stares. Yearned for butterflies in his stomach and feather touches. Searched for someone who made him feel like he was his best self all the time. Someone who made him feel like he was special.

 

_Maybe I wasn’t special to him at all._

 

He had spent years filing away all things Kuroo Tetsurou. All the small things that only Tsukishima knew. He kept those memories for a rainy day. It was those minor, finer points—the soft sweet details—that he had catalogued in his heart.

 

_Wow. Two seconds? TWO SECONDS?! I am one piece of work. This man doesn’t deserve to be put on a pedestal, okay, Kei? (Oh god he totally would’ve laughed at that pun he would’ve made it his facebook status he’s that dorky and adorab—) I am being beyond pathetic right now. What would Yamaguchi think, huh? Or better yet, Akiteru?? I need to get it together because this shitty whining is going to be the death of me. Just forget him, okay, Kei (holy shit, stop)—forget him. He’s not worth it. I can do better, I will do better, because I am not some weak-willed middle-school teen who can only go as long as two fucking seconds without thinking about you-know-who. Be better, Kei—he’s not worth it. He’s not. Who cares about Kuroo Tetsurou? NOT ME. Who cares about his stupid hair and stupid smile and his stupid habit of saying bless you to people who have the hiccups and then stupidly blushing about it later? I DON’T, that’s who. I am better than that, and I am better than needing stupid internal pep talks abou—_

 

“Yo, are you listening?”

 

Tsukishima looked over to Fukasawa, who was giving him a look he couldn’t place. The tall blond shook his head at her, letting her know that he didn’t hear her at all. She gave him a scowl before she repeated herself.

 

“I said, are you going to get drinks with us after work since we don't have to come in tomorrow?” she droned at him. Before he could give her the same dry refusal that he always gave, she pursed her lips and gave Hatsutori a look. One filled with presumption and haughtiness—a look far too smug for Tsukishima’s liking.

 

“Sure, I guess.”

 

Hatsutori and Meshizuka automatically nodded, under the impression he would decline the offer like always. Then they both immediately threw him a confused look, unsure if they misheard him. Negishi dropped his pen, beamed at his deskmate and looked like he was going to tackle Tsukishima from overexcitement. Aoki also looked back at the blond, her eyes shining as she blinked with disbelief behind her frames. Fukasawa seemed slower to register his answer, though.

 

"See, I told you guys. Now that we've established that the grouch doesn't wanna com—wait, what?" she pressed, turning in her seat to face him. Tsukishima just crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, shrugging his shoulders and not bothering to repeat himself for the brunette. He closed his eyes again, ignoring the blatant taunts Fukasawa threw his way and wondered if he should have ignored his ego and refused the invitation for drinks.

 

( _“Well, shit. Who knew the glacial prince Tsukishima would ever grace us peasants with his presence? Lucky us.”_

 

_“Yayoi-san, you really shouldn’t say stuff like that. It’s rude.”_

 

_“Whatever. If he’s coming, he better hope he’s not a lightweight, is all I’m saying.”_

 

_“Don’t be mean, please.”_

 

_“Don’t worry, Chitose-chan. I promise that I’ll play nice with your boyfriend.”_

 

_“COUGHIKDG—Yayoi-san!”_ )

 

Going out and getting drinks with people were things that you were supposed to do with _friends_. Not with this rowdy bunch of scientists. He couldn't back out now, though. Not when he finally got Fukasawa to drop her pleased sneer and wear a sour look on her face. Maybe this night would be worth it if he was allowed to put her in her place.

 

Plus, he usually had no time to do much else when the blond was roasting the small brunette. Especially dwell on Kuroo.

 

When the time struck a quarter till seven, all six adults began hanging their lab coats and making their way out of the lab. They walked in pairs out of the museum, musing amongst the others with glee and repartee as they clutched onto their coats and stuffed their hands in their pockets. Tsukishima stayed in the back, taking slow strides to keep up with the group. He walked in peaceful silence alongside Meshizuka, who was pretty mellow himself. Tsukishima watched as Hatsutori and Fukasawa hooked their arms by their elbows as they led the group to a bar and Negishi trailed behind them, rambling on about the trivia tournament starting in a month or two. Next to the man, Aoki hurried alongside them, throwing quick glances back at Tsukishima every once and awhile to make sure that he didn’t disappear. Little did she know, he had nowhere else to go. The place that he wanted to be wasn’t an option anymore.

 

The person he wanted to be with didn’t want him anymore.

 

_Maybe he never really wanted me._

 

They found a booth at the back of a bar two streets down the train station and placed their food orders to the waiter as Meshizuka poured out the sake for them. Tsukishima sat between the other men on one side of the booth while the women took the other side, snickering as they sipped from their cups. Negishi was still heckling him about joining the team as Hatsutori started going off on how she was willing to set up the other two girls with some friends of hers from college. Aoki seemed uninterested, but Fukasawa just seemed unimpressed.

 

“What do your friends do?”

 

“Well, one’s an accountant—”

 

“Boring!” The brunette beauty whined, resting her back onto Aoki’s side as she nursed her drink in her hand. The boy’s attention was back on her, like she liked it. Tsukishima allowed her to continue being the center of attention; he figured he could use another drink before he started to provoke her.

 

“ —and the other one is a dentist.”

 

“Ugh! C’mon, Hatsu! I need some real options here,” the smaller girl glanced at the blond sitting directly in front of her, “Like some of Tsukishima’s famous friends,” she purred. “Say Tsukishima, when are you going to set me up, hah?”

 

“When one of my friends piss me off and I want to unleash your crazy on them. But so far, no one’s crossed me, so tough luck for you.”

 

The whole group erupted with giggles, minus the mineralogist, who pouted at him. The girls grasped their bellies and Negishi lightly pounded onto the table top. Meshizuka tried to cover his laugh with his hand but his shaking shoulders gave him away. Tsukishima just hid his smirk poorly behind his hand, chuckling alongside the rest.

 

“I resent that.”

 

“Good. So stop asking.”

 

“But what about your volleyball friends? Like that one setter guy?”

 

“Kageyama? Even I don’t hate the king _that much_ to set him up with you.”

 

"No, asshole. The good looking one, in all those Nike ads. You and he went to Uni during your undergrad together, didn't you? God, he's so _dreamy_.”

 

"Wait, you haven't heard?" Meshizuka asked the small girl, placing his drink on the table. He and Tsukishima got along well enough, but what really made the male biochemist cool with Tsukishima was that he followed volleyball too. He was a fan of most of the national team, especially the starting lineup. So, of course he would know who Oikawa was, being the team vice captain.

 

“Heard what?”

 

"Oikawa Tooru is gay," the light-haired brunet said lowly, "Apparently, he and the ace have been a thing or some sort of couple for years."

 

“What? When was this?” Fukasawa asked, looking like she could just cry. Tsukishima was sure that half of the female population had cried when they heard the news too.

 

“Have you seriously not heard? It was everywhere since like a week ago,” Hatsutori said, “someone leaked a picture of them at some bar and it went viral within a few hours. How have you not seen it?”

 

"Show me," the mineralogist demanded. The pixie-haired girl pulled out her phone and showed Fukasawa one of the many tabloids that had plastered the picture all over their sites. Tsukishima watched as the mineralogist whined and moped over the picture, sulking at the loss of such a handsome man.

 

“Why are all the best looking ones gay?” she moaned dramatically.

 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Aoki tried to reassure.

 

“Yeah,” Hatsutori added, “there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

 

“Please, if that’s the case, I’m a puddle during a drought.”

 

“Now you’re just being hard on yourself, plenty of men would date you,” Negishi said.

 

“Really?”

 

“Sure,” Tsukishima piped in, “If they were blind, slow, and desperate.”

 

More laughter ensued at the girl’s expense, making her threaten to dump the blond’s body in some abandoned alleyway by the night’s end. As revenge, Fukasawa pulled out her phone and started to open up Tsukishima’s social media accounts, demanding that he set her up with one of the good looking men on his feed. The ladies huddled around her phone, looking at some of her options (and secretly trying to get a glimpse of Tsukishima’s life outside of work, being the enigma he was) while Negishi had to take a call outside. Tsukishima felt Meshizuka nudged his side, refilling the sake cup for the blond who nodded in thanks.

 

“So, seriously, I know Oikawa is your good friend. How is he?”

 

“Mmh, I can’t really call him my _good_ friend. He was just my teammate,” Tsukishima explained, taking slow sips of his drink, “But I did text him.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

Usually, Tsukishima would keep the fact that he used to know a majority of the national volleyball team back in the day from other people, figuring they would only try and use him to score free tickets or introduce themselves. Meshizuka, though, was a genuine fan and an all around nice guy. He didn’t have an ulterior motive and he wasn’t looking for an in with any famous athlete. Besides Aoki, he was the only other colleague Tsukishima enjoyed talking to.

 

"I just sent him the picture and told him that he was wearing my scarf that he stole from me during my freshman year and that I wanted it back."

 

“Wow,” the shorter man chuckled, “you really are heartless.”

 

“No, it’s just how he and I had always talked. Our relationship was built on sarcasm, well-meaning spite, and good-natured malice,” he said serenely, ignoring the deadpan looks his colleagues gave him. “I guess he thought it was endearing because he’s a closet masochist and never asked me to stop.” Aoki choked on her drink, Kei quietly slipped her a napkin.

 

“Even when you were his kouhai?”

 

“I was never _his_ kouhai, I mostly stayed under some other senpai’s wing for most of my time on the volleyball team.”

 

“Hmm, I see. But he was still a kind of friend, right? Aren’t you concerned?”

 

“Of course I was, which is why I texted him in the first place.”

 

“You have a funny way of showing you care.”

 

“I guess, but at least he seems alright now.”

 

“Yeah? How do you know?”

 

“Because he finally texted me back two days ago.”

 

“What’d he say?”

 

“He told me that I shouldn’t expect my scarf back and that it looked better on him, anyways,” Tsukishima said into his cup at the edge of his lips. He had also mentioned that the scarf wasn’t even Tsukishima’s in the first place and so he had no claim.

 

_Oikawa Tooru:_

_(-No way, Kei-chan, I look like a movie star in it! I could never give it up! Plus it’s more my colour, anyways. Besides, it wasn’t yours at all so you can’t ask for it back either! But if Kuro-chan comes looking for it, tell him I lost it. (′ʘ⌄ʘ‵) Or better yet, tell him_ _you_ _lost it. He’ll go easy on you, like always. You were always his ‘favorite’_ _. Talk to you later you shithead, and we should hang out, us and the old team, there’s a lot we should catch up on ヾ(○･ω･)ﾉ☆ -)_

 

Tsukishima still had the text on his phone. He wasn't close friends with the flamboyant setter, but they did get along and Tsukishima respected him. Both him and Ushijima. They might have been on different sides of the net in high school, but he had gotten to know them well enough in college. They were good people, and they were strong. Tsukishima didn't seem too worried, he knew that if anyone was going to get out of this scandal it was those two. It would do nobody any good for the blond to get in a frenzy over gossip. Besides, they seemed like a good couple. As far as he could tell.

 

The blond then felt the side of his hip vibrate, his phone coming to life with a text. Tsukishima put down his drink and slid out his phone, seeing an unread message from Yachi. He opened it as Meshizuka got up to get them some beer, granting him some privacy.

 

_Yachi Hitoka:_

_\- Hi, Tsukki! Just wanted to remind you that you won't be able to get out of this Saturday's mixer! Are you excited?! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ (I am! And nervous...and queasy. Gosh, I hope there's no blood) Me and Tadashi have some people we REALLY want you to meet ( ◞･౪･) So wear that nice suit you wore for my birthday last year, you look so handsome in that. Text me! -_

 

He couldn’t remember for the life of him why he didn’t put up more of a fight with his best friend when he had agreed to go to the event. It was just going to be a party for genius doctors to rub shoulders with other genius doctors as they patted one another on the back for some revolutionary medical wonder they founded.

 

The blond looked back at the text and he tried not to groan at the glaring implication of their matchmaking. And as uninterested as he was, Tsukishima would suck it up on Saturday. Why? Because his friends were kind enough to try to help him to move on. Even if part of him still didn’t want to.

 

Tsukishima honestly wasn't even sure if he was really trying to stop himself from thinking about Kuroo anymore. He had barely any self-control when he was sober, so he had no hope going into the night without thinking about the ravenhead (when they had gone back to his place, he hadn't had one drop of alcohol, so really, his self-control was abysmal when it came to the bedhead).

 

_Fuck that_ , _maybe I should be looking forward to Saturday_ , he thought, _Maybe that would be the best kind of distraction._

 

He didn’t always like to admit it but Yamaguchi might be right and Tsukishima might be...less right. But what he was trying to say was that maybe he really should look into dating _seriously_ (he felt an involuntary shiver climb his spine at the thought). He’s not expecting to find _the one_ at this party, but maybe it could be a start. Because goddammit, he was ready—ready to go cold-turkey on his unhealthy one-sided obsession and never ending pining and whining. Kuroo Tetsurou was the exact reason why he should start dating again.

 

_Ooh. I might be able to get a consult about my_ ever _growing tumour, too._

 

He quickly replied to the blonde, going back and correcting the typos he made. ( _Holy shit, am I buzzed already?)_

 

_Tsukishima Kei (myself):_

_\- Yeah, I’m excited. Really, I am. -_

 

And he was—excited to finally giving himself a chance to move forward, something he's never really done.

 

He’s excited for a future with someone new who would be willing to give him their all—mind and body. Someone who was willing to deal with all his faults and baggage, who would learn to love his flaws, and all. He wanted something serious. He wanted to meet the parents and move in together and go through every milestone. He wanted someone who’d be worth asking Yamaguchi to go shopping for an engagement ring too. He was excited for all of it.

 

Or at least excited to get laid, if anything.

 

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his hand, the screen glowing bright with another text from his former team manager.

 

_Yachi Hitoka:_

_\- Yay! That’s super! I can’t wait to see you! (ﾉ^∇^)ﾉﾟ I think you’ll really like some of the people there!! -_

 

Tsukishima couldn’t even pretend that he didn’t have a soft spot for the small blonde girl. She really was perfect for Yamaguchi. Just one other person who found their perfect partner that they wanted to spend their life with.

 

His train of thought was interrupted when he heard the ladies in front of him coo at Fukasawa’s phone while stealing glances at him.

 

“What?” he asked, taking the mug of beer that Meshizuka handed to him as he sat back down in the booth. Tsukishima had already noticed that his cheeks felt warm and that he was talking more than usual. Both obvious indicators that he should probably not have another drink, but he figured that given the shitty couple of weeks he’s had, he deserved to let loose this once.

"Nothing...we just found Oikawa's Instagram."

 

"And?" Next thing he knew, a phone screen was being shoved in his field of vision, making him blink before his eyes could adjust. When they did, he stared at an old picture of Oikawa, one arm out to take a selfie and the other arm around a younger, thinner, annoyed looking college-freshman Tsukishima.

 

"And you looked so cute when you were younger!" The girls laughed, giving him teasing mewls and awes. Negishi chose then to return to the booth, looking at the picture and laughing at how grumpy he still looked. Meshizuka was no better, joining the others in their teasing of the blond.

 

“Oh man, Tsukishima, what happened!?”

 

“Look at him, he’s still such a grouch! Oh, my—ha—look! He’s making that exact same face right now too!”

 

“Man you were so scrawny! How did you even make the same team as Ushijima?”

 

“Look likes nothing really changed, to be honest.”

 

“I think you look fine,” Aoki said as she failed to fight the giggles that kept escaping her.

 

He tried to keep his left eye from twitching, not entirely sure why everyone thought the picture was funny. He didn’t look ridiculous in it. But he knew saying anything would just goad the group on more, so he retreated to something else.

 

"Why are you even on his Instagram?"

 

“Well,” Hatsutori started, her hazel eyes sparkling with teasing, “we were looking through yours, but it was super boring and barely had anything. So we looked through your tagged pictures and found Oikawa’s account.”

 

“And you went through it because…?”

 

"Because we figured that we'd find some suitable men for me," Fukasawa explained, tapping away at her phone as she skimmed down the setter's account. Tsukishima just rolled his eyes and drank his beer, trying his best to keep his tongue from slipping out something mean. Well, meaner than usual. And then once again, her phone was shoved in his face.

 

"What about this guy?" The blond took a moment to see who she was referring to, "He's all over his account and he's totes my type."

 

“That’s his best friend, Iwaizumi. And—” _I’m pretty sure he’s also gay“_ —you’re not what he goes for.”

 

“Ugh, okay,” she said, pulling up another picture. When the phone was shoved back into his line of sight, he was looking at a picture with an overzealous Bokuto and aloof looking Akaashi wearing fake mustaches with Oikawa and an awkward Ushijima. “How about one of those two? The dark haired one is fucking gorgeous and I’m willing to drop my panties asap for the buff owl looking one.”

 

“Yayoi-san!” Aoki shrieked in embarrassment, “Language!”

 

“Oh whatever, it’s true. I’d let them both tag team me.”

 

_“Oh my god,_ Yayoi-san stop saying stuff like that!”

 

“Why? They might be into that.”

 

“They’re not,” Tsukishima clarified, trying his best to wipe the image Fukasawa so _clearly_ painted for him of her and the couple, “they’re engaged. To each other.”

 

Anyone who was familiar with Bokuto’s career would have known that, but Fukasawa didn’t really seem like she had interest in the actual sport, more so just in the athletes themselves. He will have to remember to tell Akaashi about the girl’s ridiculous thirst when they met up for their weekly lunch.

 

However, Tsukishima might not be too eager seeing as how when they met up earlier this past week, Akaashi had been...suspicious. He could tell that the tall blond was upset over something, but Tsukishima didn't want to burden him, (plus, retelling _that night_ would have been counter productive, seeing as he had sworn all thoughts, and feelings, and _daydreams_ and—silly obsessive pep talks about the whole situation) seeing as Akaashi was still good friends with the older ravenhead. Tsukishima would endure by himself.

 

He was fine.

 

“That’s not fair, how are all the beefy, good-looking guys that hang out with your friend gay? Ugh, does the universe show no mercy?!”

 

“Trust me,” Tsukishima said, “it doesn’t.”

 

“So you won’t set me up with the other setter guy on the team either?”

 

“Unless you’re a short annoying redhead who’s fluent in gibberish and sound effects, you’re not his type.”

 

“Ugh, seriously?”

 

“Yup. Or biodegradable plastic, but that’s a whole other dilemma.”

 

“...Well, okay, um, oh! What about _your_ best friend, huh? The one who sometimes stops by the lab. He’s cute. Hook a sista’ up!”  

 

"Yamaguchi? He has a girlfriend and soon-to-be fiance. Besides, I would never let him date a she-harpy like you."

 

“You are as insufferable as you are useless,” the brunette moaned.

 

“Thank you,” Tsukishima teased, finishing the last of his beer in one gulp just as a waiter arrived at their table with their pizza. The others all reached for a slice, savouring their first bite full of melted cheese and herby sauce. Tsukishima grabbed a slice of his own, taking a few bites before dropping it on his disposable plate and swallowing it down with beer. He felt light and airy, fingers tingling with a good buzz.

 

Why didn’t he always go out with these people again? Sure, some were annoying but they were fun to mess with and they had bought all of the drinks so far. Plus, since he's been here he’s been somewhat distracted from his self-pity party about—  

 

“Oh, _fuck me_. What about this guy?” Tsukishima looked at her phone that was, once again, shoved back in his face, his eyes finally focusing on another picture of Oikawa. It was old and not the best lighting, but the setter still looked good. But right next to him, in Tsukishima’s personal opinion, Kuroo looked way better.

 

His cheeks grew warmer, the alcohol in his system making it harder to resist the fluttering in his heart. Kuroo looked so young in the picture. It had to be around the time that the ravenhead had just started college, back when Tsukishima was still only hardcore crushing on ravenhead from miles away. He looked sweaty and tired but Tsukishima thought that he looked like he belonged alongside the setter on the court, his hand shooting a peace sign to the camera with a smile, a volleyball held between his other arm. God, he was so talented.

 

_Why’d he stop playing again?_

 

“Hello? Is he single or what?” The blond came out of his musing thanks to Fukasawa's annoying voice. Given his state, it took him a minute to get a grip of what she was asking him. He tried not to let his face harden at the thought of Kuroo with someone else, even in Fukasawa’s fantasy. Kuroo didn’t belong to him. The older man was never his…

 

“Yeah, he is.”

 

“Whoo! Jackpot! Give me his number, please.”

 

...but then again, the ravenhead was too good for the skanky ass brunette in front of him, in Tsukishima’s _humblest_ opinion.

 

“No.”

 

“What!?” she screeched, on the verge of jumping across the table, “Why not? He’s so sexy. C’mon!! Set me up! He looks lik—”

 

“I said no.”

 

“But why?”

 

“Because no.”

 

“UGH! FINE,” the mineralogist huffed, like a child throwing a tantrum. “You’re no help. That’s just fucking great. Let’s order a round of shots, it’s on me and my depressing love life,” she offered dramatically, waving over the waiter to their table.

 

A few minutes passed before the waiter came back with a tray that overflowed with shot glasses, full to the brim. Everyone looked at Fukasawa like she was deluded if she thought they were going to down all of them, even between six of them. The waiter placed chasers of juice and beer down on the table too, having mercy on the poor group who had no idea what Fukasawa had in mind.

 

“You’re joking, right?” Hatsutori asked.

 

“Nope. If you don’t want any, then you better win,” the brunette smiled sweetly.

 

“Win?” Negishi asked, unsure if he wanted her to clarify.

 

“Yup, win. Who wants to start?”

 

“Start what?” Aoki questioned, everyone already regretting whatever was to come.

 

“The game. It’s easy. You don’t have to drink,” everyone let out a sigh of relief, “unless you’ve done the deed, of course.”

 

“You want to play _‘never have I ever_?’” Tsukishima groaned, thinking that he had outgrown this game since the last time he allowed Tanaka to talk him into it a few years back. He was about to tell her that they were too old for this...but God, did he hate the look on her face just then, eyes squinting as she sneered right at him—looking at him like he was such chicken-shit. Fuck that.

 

"What’s wrong? You're not scared, are you? If you can't hang, I understa—"

 

“Let's start then,” Tsukishima dared, already reaching out to grab a large beer in one hand and a shot glass in the other. He frowned at the wicked smile she sent his way, grabbing a glass of her own. Negishi followed suit, figuring if Tsukishima of all people was going to partake, he should too. (“ _This will probably never happen again, so fuck it.”)_ After him, the pair of biochemist threw caution to the wind and grabbed a glass. They all looked at Aoki, who had frozen in place. Reluctantly, she slowly grabbed herself a glass, sighing in defeat to peer pressure.

 

“Perfect!” Fukasawa beamed, “Now does anyone want to start the game?”

 

Surprisingly, Tsukishima raised his shot glass, looking at the chestnut-haired beauty with a competitive edge that he hadn't felt in years.

 

“Never have I ever,” he put down his shot, “slept with a teacher.”

 

He watched as Fukasawa's smile falter marginally and her eyes twitched at the audacious question. Never one to back down from a challenge, though, she raised her glass, tipping it ever so slightly, and downed it in one take like a champ. But when she put her glass on the table and reached for another shot, another clink of glass resonated from Tsukishima's left. Everyone looked away from the girl to see Negishi cringing from the shot he just drank, totally unaware of the face his coworkers were giving him. The geologist looked up, flinching with surprise from all their attention.

 

“What?”

 

“ _You_ slept with a teacher?” Fukasawa asked, clearly giving away how stupefied she (and everyone else, for that matter) was.

 

“Don’t look so surprised,” he defended, red cheeks puffing, “I’m an excellent lover.”

 

And that’s how every other intern he worked with got to hear Tsukishima’s real laugh.

 

It was loud and he could have sworn he snorted at some point. Tsukishima’s belly constricted and ached, forcing him to clutch his stomach as it burned with pain—a good, soothing pain that made him gasp for air. The sound started to fuse with another chuckle, then others, and then everyone around him had formed a harmony of laughter, like the sound of different bells chiming a melody against a breeze.

 

Small drops of tears caught onto the corners of his golden lashes, lifting his thumbs under his glasses to wipe them away. He opened one eye, looking around to see everyone in the same state as him. Except for Aoki.

 

She had stopped her giggling and just stared. Just sat there and stared at Tsukishima laughing, taking it all in. Him—in this moment. Looking young and sincerely, truly honest in his expression. He must have looked like a child, no worries and nothing to hide. And Aoki just stared, her lashes curling as they framed jade gems that gleamed and roamed his face. Tsukishima figured he must have looked quite different, from the way she was looking at him.

 

Then she smiled, so pretty. Right at him, their eyes catching one another's as he kept on laughing. She just smiled and stared, like she was the luckiest girl in the world to be seeing Tsukishima laugh like he had finally taken a breath of fresh air—like the weight he had been carrying for years on his shoulders had lifted.

 

And he stared back, because it had been a long time since someone had looked at him like that. Like he meant something. Like he mattered.

 

_Maybe I never really mattered to him._

 

Their game continued on, taking shot after shot, and ordering another round as their questions grew bolder and bolder. Fukasawa was the repeat offender, taking the most drinks out of all of them, but she wasn't ahead by much. Hatsutori and Negishi were a few drinks behind her, followed by Tsukishima who's already had four shot (four shots too many) since they started the game.

 

Aoki was winning with only one shot so far. But the game was far from over.

 

_Okay_ , _there’s no mistaking it. I’m drunk right now. Should I call Yamaguchi?_

 

“Never hav’ i ever,” Negishi said, swaying in place as he rose his glass, “hadda’ crush...on a senpai.” Almost immediately, everyone groaned and took their shots in unison. Tsukishima felt his drink leak into his stomach like lava, the burn in his throat getting less and less harsh. _What bullshit. What young teenager never had a crush on an older senpai? That was such a loaded question._

 

_(Ooooh. Maybe I should call Kuroo-san instead..._

 

_No. That was seriously, like, Hinata-level dumb. Be better, idiot.)._

 

Fighting with his inner thoughts and desires was a constant with Tsukishima, but those same thoughts and desires tended to be so fucking _impossible_ to ignore whenever he drank.

 

"Alright, alright," Fukasawa cleared her throat, slurring her words, "never have I ever...had a crush on a coworker."

 

“That’s just hitting below the belt,” Hatsutori groaned, raising her glass all the same.

 

“All's fair. Now drink up you two,” the brunette pointed blatantly to the biochemists. She laughed as they both tried to hide the blushes spreading across their faces. She was going to say more when they all caught sight of Aoki raising her own glass, downing the shot in one take.

 

The ravenhead girl cringed after, making a sour face as she chased down the alcohol with juice. Tsukishima raised a brow, completely caught off guard. _Isn't this her first real job, though?_

 

“ _My-my-my_ , aren’t we being a brave girl tonight,” Fukasawa cooed at Aoki, rubbing the girl’s back as she began to cough lowly from the burn of the alcohol.

 

“Shut—cough—shut up,” the raven haired girl chided, motioning for another glass, “Who’s next?” Hatsutori raised her hand.

 

“Me. Alright, um, okay-ah, yeah okay,” she cleared her throat, swaying as she looked at the rest of the group, “Never have I ever lost your _virginity_ to the senpai I had a crush on.”

 

"Yer just rewordin' my question!" Negishi whined. Hatsutori brushed him off, claiming that she thought of it all on her own. Everyone laughed at the exchange, and no one expected anyone to drink from their glass. And no one did. No one, of course, except Tsukishima.

 

Fukasawa stopped in the middle of her giggling to watch the blond swig the shot back and gently place his glass back down.

 

“You’re shitting me, right?” she asked the blond, getting a hold of the everyone else’s attention. “Tell me you’re joking.”

 

“Nope,” he shook his head, feeling lighter than ever as he chased down the burn with beer, “I liked them since I was a first year. Then, when I was in my senior year and they were a sophomore in college, we hooked up.”

 

"Lucky!" Negishi praised the blond, slapping his back, "Who knew ya' were such a casanova! Haha, unless they just felt bad for ya'?"

 

"They were a _senior_ when you met? Good for you, man," Meshizuka said, clearly impressed.

 

“Do you still talk to them…?” Aoki whispered, her question going unheard.

 

“I could believe it,” Hatsutori said, waving her right hand in front of her face for emphasis, “You’re pretty good lookin’.”

 

"Nah, it was probably out of pity." Tsukishima looked at Fukasawa with a frown, hating how she was grinning at him again, not even bothering to hide it as she sipped another shot. He could laugh at how he was probably luckier when it came to dating, but it would only entice another debate. She would still be laughing down at him, unbelieving and assuming she knew better.  

 

_Maybe it was just out of pity._

 

He wanted her to choke on that shit-eating grin.

 

“Maybe,” he said, never looking away from her smug face, “If they pitied me for three whole years, that is.”

 

Her reaction was immediate, spitting out her drink all over her right hand as she started a coughing fit, banging her other palm against her chest. Aoki slapped her between her shoulder blades, moving her drink on the table. The others laughed at her outburst, Fukasawa’s reaction totally unexpected. Tsukishima just smirked, enjoying every moment as the brunette’s eyes teared up and her cheeks turned blotchy.

 

The universe was finally giving him a win. A small one, but oh so satisfying.

 

When she finally calmed down, wiping her mouth with a napkin and smudging her lipstick, she looked at Tsukishima with a frown. Tsukishima just kept smirking as she recomposed herself, grabbing another shot glass to replace the one she spat out.

 

He quickly looked down to her disposed white napkin, crumpled and stained. Like the colour of a fire truck. Bold, bright, rich, and red.

 

The same shade as the Nekoma colours.

 

Tsukishima would know, he still had one of the VBC jackets in the back of his closet. Bold white print ran along the back of the shoulders and inside the seams, written in sharpie on the label tag, read Kuroo Tetsurou— _captain_.

 

When he looked up again, Tsukishima locked eyes with Fukasawa who wore an expression full of competitiveness.

 

“Three years?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“I didn’t know you used to have a girlfriend…”

 

“I didn’t,” he said, taking a slow sip of his beer.

 

“Oh, really...”

 

“Really.”

 

“Well, then… I guess it’s my turn,” she said, her face becoming less hard and far more pleased than it should.

 

“Yayoi-san,” Aoki pleaded lowly, “be nice.”

 

"It's okay Chitose-chan, I just want to clarify something…" The brunette bombshell said, raising her glass to the blond, "Never have I ever had a fuck buddy."

 

He looked her in the eye as he raised a shot glass to his lips and swung it back. If she thought he’d back down, she was mistaken. No time to dwell on his answer, the blond fired back, forcing the snobby brunette to drink. The others just watched on as Fukasawa and Tsukishima baited one another.

 

“Never have I ever sent nudes.” They both drank another shot.

 

"Never have I ever had a one-night stand." And another shot.

 

"Never have I ever participated in public sex." And then another shot.

 

“Never have I ever gone down on someone in a bathroom stall.” Then another.

 

“Never have I ever fooled around in a classroom.” And another.

 

And another.

 

And _another_.

 

_Now I really might have to call Yamaguchi._

 

He slammed down another shot on the table, Fukasawa’s own glass echoing against the table too. They were both swaying in their seats, eyes blinking as they tried to focus through their hazy vision.

 

“You two know that the rest of us are still here, right?” Hatsutori said, resting her head in her hand as she watched Tsukishima and Fukasawa reach for another shot (fumbling and clumsy, both knocking over empty glasses in the process), both not knowing when to quit.

 

"Alr-alright," Fukasawa said, ignoring the other girl and raising her glass. Tsukishima followed, ignoring Meshizuka shaking his head and Aoki sighing in defeat, "my turn."

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Never have I ever...” she started, her eyes half lidded as she pursed her lips in thought. Tsukishima hoped that she was about to run to the bathroom, that way this game would end with him victorious. Looking away for a moment to figure out where the bathroom was exactly, he caught sight of a tall patron by the bar.

 

The patron couldn’t have been more than a few centimeters shorter than him, but he carried himself well. He was handsome, his long dark hair styled back and his shoulders broad as it stretched his t-shirt across his chest. He was standing around with a group of people, laughing loudly as they clinked their beer glasses in a toast. Then, as the stranger placed the edge of the glass to his lips, he looked right at Tsukishima.

 

Almost as if he’s been waiting for the blond to catch him staring since he got there.

 

They just watched one another, the air around the blond suddenly feeling like a furnace. The man didn’t let up, just tilted the beer and sipped as he stared. His eyes were green and smokey, drinking Tsukishima in and shamelessly implying more than a simple friendly glance.

 

_Come home with me_ , he said with just that one look, _be mine tonight_.

 

Tsukishima has been on the receiving ends of that ‘look' since forever ago. And sometimes, the blond indulged at the invitation. He sometimes let himself enjoy strangers as they worshiped him for his looks, finding release from stress and built up frustrations. But it didn't matter in the end.

 

These strangers were never enough.

 

The blond looked away, turning his attentions back to Fukasawa, who looked right at him, gaze full of predatory instinct.

 

“Never have I ever been interested in men.”

 

“You really are just trying to get fucked up, aren’t you?” Hatsutori giggled as she watched Fukasawa quickly down her shot, to no one's surprise. The brunette, though, just stared at Tsukishima after, turning everyone else’s attention back to the blond. The taller man just stared back at her, watching as her god damn smirk grew.

 

What? Did she think he was _ashamed_? Embarrassed?

 

No, he knew who he was—what he was. He’s known since he was thirteen and tried to hide his blush whenever he caught a glimpse of the other boys in the locker room. Tsukishima might have never told his parents, but that didn’t mean he regretted being attracted to boys. Somehow, it all worked out. He wasn’t any less happy being gay. Surprisingly, thanks to his sexuality, he had gotten things he never thought he would. He had gotten support from his best friend, acceptance from his brother, and a lot more options in the dating department.

 

And he had gotten Kuroo, too. For a while, at least.

 

He raised his glass, ignoring the widening eyes from his other coworkers, as he glared down Fukasawa before he tipped his head back and downed the shot. The glass echoed against the wood, silence following his confirmation. He wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, but he didn’t really intend on letting the other interns know something overtly personal about him through an abundance of booze and his stupid competitive ego.

 

It was always hard to guess the backlash some people might have about him.

 

“I knew it!” Fukasawa yelled, pointing to his face, “I knew there was something up with you! There had to be a reason you never tried anything with me!”  

 

“It's actually your personality that's to blame,” Tsukishima corrected, belly warm with alcohol and sheepishness.

 

“Fukasawa was right,” Hatsutori mused, “all the good looking guys really are gay.” She sighed. The other biochemist gave her a pointed look, a resounding ‘hey’ making her turn to him and reassure that she was only joking.

 

“Wait,” Negishi said, “Is that why ya’ never wanna hang with me?”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Meshizuka asked.

 

“He musta’ been afraid of fallin’ in love with me, obviously.”

 

He didn’t know what reactions to expect, but Negishi being so concerned that he’d end up accidentally wooing Tsukishima was not one of them. Whatever worry he had evaporated with the laughter that once again erupted from their table. Fukasawa then picked up the last shot glass.

 

"Another round on me! What do ya' say-"

 

_“_ **_No_ ** _,”_ the other five replied in unison.

 

Tsukishima couldn’t remember when he had laughed so much. These people—these colleagues weren’t his friends, but they were starting to grow on him. Meshizuka raised his beer in cheers, the others following suit.

 

“To Tsukishima. Who knew that underneath all that snarkiness and bite was an actual human being. You should come out with us more often.”

 

"And next time, drinks are on you," Fukasawa finished, getting a loud whoop from Negishi and the rest. He brought his drink to his mouth, a rare smile adorning his face. Next thing they all knew, half an hour had passed before the barkeep yelled for last call, the group only then realizing just how late it had gotten. Meshizuka offered to call cabs for everyone, stepping out to use the phone.

 

When they had mosied on outside to wait for their rides, the group had paired off, agreeing to share cabs with each other. Fukasawa left with Hatsutori, hanging off the poor girl who assured the group that she’d make sure the inebriated brunette got home safe. They watched as their cab pulled away and a loud _‘woooooooooo’_ echoed through the night from their window. Meshizuka accompanied Negishi after, practically carrying the portly man into the taxi cab. He said goodbye to the last two remaining, telling them that he’d see them Monday.

 

Waiting for the last cab to arrive, Tsukishima stood next to Aoki, who had been quiet during the second half of the evening. He wondered if it was because of what he had admitted to the group, or if it was about something else. If he was sober, he might have let her be and allowed her some privacy to her troubles.

 

But he wasn’t, and his mouth had a knack for running loose when he couldn’t remember how many drinks he had consumed.

 

“Hey, Aoki,” he said, doing his best to keep himself from slurring his words. She flinched at his voice, not expecting him to speak, almost like she forgot he was there. He tried not to let the reaction sting. She was the closest person he had at work. He did not want her to think ill of him. “Is there something wrong?”

 

She did not reply. The air around them grew colder. To his right, near the entrance of the bar, he heard another group fumble their way out and talk amongst themselves as they waited for their own rides. Tsukishima wanted to listen in to what they were saying, anything to keep him from being in this now suffocating silence that was too tense to go unnoticed.

 

“Is it something I did? Or said?”

 

He watched her try to hide a quivering lip. He caught a whiff of cigarette smoke from the other group but tried to ignore it.

 

The streets were dark, the moon hidden behind a curtain of clouds. They stood by the fluorescent lights, barely bright enough for Tsukishima to see her shoulders stiffen and her eyes look down to her feet. The blond sobered up slightly, taking in a harsh breath.

 

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me again. Not everyone is accepting about...my _preferences_ , and that’s fine. The last thing I would want is to make you uncomforta—”

 

“Have you ever been in love, Tsukishima-kun?” She interrupted. Taken aback, he turned to her, his hazy vision focusing on her downcasted head, her raven hair blocking her face from him. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper against the slow wind that had picked up. The muffled conversation of the other men died with the wind.

 

The breeze was enough to blow some of the girl's hair along, giving Tsukishima a chance to catch the trickle of water that had fallen onto her shoes. Completely unsure of what to do—what he did to make her cry—he placed a hand on her shoulders. It only seemed to make things worse, feeling her start to shake gently.

 

“Aoki, what’s wro—”

 

"Have you ever been so in love that you can't breathe around them without your heart skipping a beat, without your dreams being filled with nothing but their smile and the colour of their eyes?"

 

Why was she asking him this? Right now? She must have known that he was in a questionable state of inebriation. Shouldn’t she be telling this to Fukasawa, or Hatsutori, or someone else— _anybody_ else?

 

But he didn’t stop her. Didn’t interrupt her, because he wanted to hear what she had to say. Because he had a feeling that he knew exactly what she talking about.

 

_Yes, yes I know exactly how that feels._

 

“And then, one day, when you _finally_ think you have enough courage to tell them—tell them how you feel, how you've felt since the first moment you saw them…they say something…that changes everything,” She took a sharp breath, trying her best to keep her voice from breaking, “They say something that makes you realize that you two were never meant to be together...”

 

_Yes, I have._

 

“That they could never love you back.”

 

_“I'm leaving, Tsukki.”_

 

“And they say something that just _breaks your heart…_ Even though you thought that maybe, you had _hoped_ that…”

 

_“But why would you leave?”_

 

_“Why should I stay?_ ”

 

“Just maybe...they might have felt the same for you.”

 

In hindsight, Tsukishima could have said nothing. He could just stand there and pat her shoulder, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong. He could wait, and ride a cab with her and make sure she got home safe. He could do all of that without saying a word. Without ever saying anything out loud.

 

_Stay with me,_ he wanted to tell him, _please stay with me_

 

But what good has keeping the things he wanted to say bottled up ever done for him? Maybe if he was a little more confident, like Aoki seemed to be, he would have said something when it mattered.

 

If he were braver, he might have confessed _everything_ to Akaashi those weeks ago.  

 

“Yes...yes, I do know what that’s like.”

 

_“Give me one reason I should stay, Kei.”_

 

“Your senpai?” She asked, her breath hitching as tears started to drip down her cheeks, not a dimple in sight. Her glassy eyes moved to look at him, turning the jade hue a shade darker.

 

If he were bolder, he’d have been more direct, more _honest_ that morning two weeks ago.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You loved them?

 

_Maybe if I just told him those years ago, he might have stayed._

 

He didn’t want to stay silent anymore—saying nothing has only ever broken his heart.

 

“Yes,” he whispered, letting the truth breathe openly into the night, the honesty only witnessed by one crying girl, “I loved him.”

 

“Do you still? Love him?”

 

_Me,_ he wanted to cry, _For me._

 

“Yes,” he said, light peeking out from the clouds, “Yes, I still love him.”

 

He didn't realize he had looked away from her. All he knew was that he couldn't remember the last time the moon had looked so bright. He stared, alabaster light basking around him, his skin glowing. He didn't have to look back to know that the other girl was staring at him—she did that when she thought he wouldn't notice.

 

Kuroo used to do the same.

 

They were interrupted by a loud honk, the yellow taxi cab parking a few feet away from the curb, the driver unlocking the doors. The blonde quickly rose his hand, motioning that they were the customers that had called. He turned back to the girl, watching her quickly wipe away her tears. She pulled out a napkin from her coat, wiping her nose as she walked to the cab, pulling open the door and scooting to the other end of the backseat.

 

Tsukishima stood against the wall, fluorescent light crashing against his back harshly as the clouds rolled back over the sky. He wasn't sure what had happened, when the world had started moving again.

 

He suddenly felt all the night's drinking crashing back into his system, his vision distorted. The blond tried to take a solid step towards the cab but felt everything shift to the side. He thought he heard Aoki call out to him, but he really couldn't focus on anything but the warmth that wrapped around his waist.

 

_“Are you okay there, Tsukki?”_

 

The blond blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to focus, his glasses askew. The man holding him had gotten him on his feet, his hands still resting on the small of his back. Tsukishima looked at his knight-in-shining-armour, wondering if his fantasies had manifested into the bedhead that he longed for.

 

_Maybe he did come back for me._

 

“What did you say?” Tsukishima asked, his own hands creeping around broad shoulders and a thick neck. He almost couldn’t believe his own luck. _I can’t mess up this time. I have to tell him. I need this pain to stop. He needs to know, I need him to know!_

 

“What did you say, Kur—”

 

“I asked if you okay there, cutie?”  

 

The blond blinked and the former scheming captain disappeared, only to be replaced by the stranger that had not-so-subtly ogled him all night at the bar. Tsukishima felt himself loosen his hold on the man, his arms falling from the stranger's firm chest. Straightening out, he tried to step back and felt like he was going to tip over again. Strong hands held him up upright, shifting him until one arm is draped over the man's shoulders again, and he was being half-carried to the cab. The door was opened, Aoki sitting closer to the middle to grab onto the blond as he was settled into the window seat. The stranger took his time disentangling their limbs, positioning Tsukishima once he was seated.

 

He might have been too forward for the blond’s liking, but he was looking more and more like the kind of meal Tsukishima could indulge in tonight. He needed it. He was hungry, yearning to be wanted by someone. The person that he wanted didn’t feel the same.

 

_Maybe I just need someone to want me._

 

“You gonna be able to make it home alright, blondie?” The man asked full of intent, his smile lopsided. Tsukishima could only stare at his mouth, words lost to him.

 

Kuroo smiled the same way.

 

“He’ll be fine, _creep.”_

 

He watched the stranger’s face drop, a hand pushing him away from the door before it reached out to close it shut on his face. Tsukishima turned to the girl, who was huffing at the stranger still standing too close to the side door.

 

She quickly turned forward, giving the driver her address.

 

“One stop?” The cabbie asked, looking at the pair as if they were a couple.

 

“No, two. Just making sure she gets home safe, first,” Tsukishima mumbled, closing his eyes as the taxi started moving forward picking up speed, the stranger forgotten by the curb.

 

“Actually, just one stop, please,” Aoki corrected, getting a firm nod from the cabbie. Tsukishima opened his eyes, turning his head to the girl confused.

 

“No, two. I have to get hom—”

 

“You can’t let random men do that to you,” she interrupted harshly. The ravenhead kept her sight forward, trying to hide her glassy eyes again. Lost to what she meant, he tried to straighten up from his slouched position, trying to get a better look at her face.

 

“What?”

 

“You can’t just let men practically grope you like that. It’s _unnatural.”_

 

The way she hissed at him made his blood drain from his face. He didn’t want her to hate him, not her. She was the most like Kuroo. He didn’t know if you could go without the sideways glances and the warm feelings it gave him. But he couldn’t change.

 

He’s never regretted being gay, but in this moment—amidst the tense smell of leather and the half-hidden moonlight that was bathing her profile as tears continued to roll down her cheeks—he wished he could take back what he had admitted earlier.

 

“I don’t mean to interrupt your lover’s quarrel or anything, but I’m Kenzo,” the cabbie said, really oblivious about reading the room, “And I’d really appreciate it if you would be so kind as to inform me if anyone needs to hurl their guts out, please let me know so I could pull over—”

 

"We're not lovers," Aoki corrected, turning away to look out the window, her sniffling catching Tsukishima's ears, “Please keep your eyes on the road, sir.”

 

“Ri-riiiight. Either way, it would be much appreciated. Just cleaned my car this morning,” he finished with a smile, reaching over to the passenger seat to grab a plastic water bottle, handing it over his shoulders to them. “For you, goldie locks. Just in case you’re feeling as queasy as you look.”

 

Tsukishima took the bottle with a low ‘thank you', unsure of what he was supposed to do to fix the hostility between him and the girl seated as far away from him as possible. But he never learned how to fix anything, he was usually the one breaking.

 

When they arrived in front of her building, Tsukishima followed her out, telling Kenzo the cabbie that he'd be back in a few minutes after he walked her to the door. The cabbie ‘assured' the blond that he'd wait, giving him a strange wink before Tsukishima pushed himself away from the taxi and inside the building. The blond caught up with Aoki, walking beside her in silence into the elevator. He wasn't sure what to say, turning to look at her with a confused sort of anxiety.

 

She was still crying.

 

And even if he wasn’t clear on the reason, he knew it was his fault.

 

"I’m sorry. If I said something that bothered you or did anything..."

 

She turned to look at him again, her blotchy cheeks slowly dusting with pink. When the elevator dinged, they stepped out to her floor, walking to her door down the long, off-grey hall. A lunette window casting the only light around them at the end of the walkway. When they stood on her welcome mat, they didn’t move.

 

What more could he say? He still wasn’t in any state to have any sort of serious conversation, let alone stand as long as he has. He still needed to get home and forget about the night. But she was still crying, and he couldn’t let things be as they were.

 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Aoki,” he whispered, scared that she might not feel his remorse, his sinking stomach not helping, “I’d never want to make you upset or make you feel distressed. I don’t… I don’t want you to hate m—”

 

Her lips were soft and tasted like apple juice. He wasn’t sure when she had gotten close enough to kiss him, couldn’t remember when her hands had found their way around his neck, but he didn’t push her off immediately.

 

Her tongue darted forward, tracing his lower lip in permission. The blond felt the girl tug him closer, her chest pressing against his sternum as he was forced to slouch. His world was still hazy, blurred at the edges and he couldn’t tell if this was all real. He was so lost, unsure what had happened in the last couple of seconds. Seconds? Minutes? Years?

 

She stood on her toes to reach him, her hands finding his jaw as she tilted his head to deepen her kiss. He found his wits, bringing his hand to push her shoulders away carefully. When he looked back to her, she was fluttering her lashes open, lust and hope reflecting off her irises. Her tear streaked face looked soft as Aoki leaned back on her heels, her mouth parted and glossy from spit. Tsukishima felt his cheeks grow hot at the sight. But he still needed answers.

 

“Aoki—”

 

“Please think this through, Tsukishima-kun,” she begged, grabbing his hands and bringing them to her chest, feeling the heat radiating from her as his left knuckle could feel her heart racing. _“Please._ You—You’re so smart—so brilliant! Surely you could see I’m right.”

 

What was she asking him for? For a second of make-believe? For a momentary, fleeting kiss that she could hold onto? The blond needed to know because he wasn’t sure if he could give her anything beyond that.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“You and I both know that I’m the right choice for you.”

 

What was he suppose to say to that? It had been a long time since Tsukishima didn't have an answer for whatever came his way. Tongue-tied, his mouth parted in disbelief as his golden eyes shifted, unsure if this was really happening to him. His hands still in her grip, the blond straightened himself to his full height.

 

“Aoki,” he said in the sternest voice he could muster at the moment, wanting to make sure there was no confusion or misunderstanding, “I’m _gay.”_

 

“Yes, I know, I understand, but what good will come of that?”

 

They stood there in silence, the ravenhead anxious and Tsukishima flabbergasted. Shadows danced against their faces from the window as the fog kept shifting against light from the night sky. Before he could tell her that she didn’t mean what she was saying, she shocked him once again.

 

“Th-this way of living won’t work for you! You won’t be able to have an honest life with other people or—or have a family,” she tried to reason, the tears forming at the corner of her eyes again.  

 

He wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her to stop saying such ridiculous things. But he didn’t, because even if he couldn’t understand where this was coming from, he could recognize the look in her eyes.

 

_I know that look._

 

“I can be that for you,” she whispered, hoping to finally get through to him, “I can be that normalcy. I can be someone you wouldn’t have to be ashamed of.”

 

_Maybe Kuroo was ashamed of me._

 

“You would live a lie?” he asked, dumbfounded.

 

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

 

“Because you’re convinced you love me?”

 

_“Yes,”_ she was crying again, _“Yes,_ I do love you. I do, I know I do!”

 

She sounded so certain, her breath coming out fast and her heart still drumming against his hand. His own heart was no better.

 

“How?” he asked, so unsure of how willing she was to throw everything away for him. For him—a boy who was lonely, and cowardly, and longed for someone else. Someone so unsuitable and unworthy, “How could you be willing to do that? I wouldn’t be able to feel the same for you. I—I would _never_ be able to see you that way.”

 

“I know you couldn’t give me everything,” she choked, her voice breaking. And though her voice came across a solemn timbre, she wore a smile. A smile that said he was everything to her in this moment—a moment of complete honesty. “I know that. But please, just as long as I can have you, that would be okay. Even if it’s a small part. Even just the part that’s all for show and nothing else. I just want you, _please.”_

 

The ravenhead gave him that look again. The blond just stood there, unmoving and cold, watching her tears roll down her eyes like diamonds as she begged him to give her a chance.

 

“It’ll be hard, but over time, our love will be strong, stronger than anything just driven by attraction. We’ll have loyalty. You might even learn to love me back,” she choked out, “and you might have other lovers and moments that you succumb to your nature—I understand that—but then when you come back—when you come back to your senses, you’ll have someone waiting for you, not caring of your faults. You’ll have me.”

 

He knows that look.

 

“I’ll keep your secrets, I’ll make sure you have a fulfilled life.”

 

He’s worn that look.

 

“Please just say yes to me. Please let me have you.”

 

That look of desperation.

 

“I can make you happy. So, _so happy,_ Kei. Don’t you want that?”

 

Yes, yes he wanted that.

 

Aoki watched his expression soften, confused and at a loss from her confession. She pulled him down, dousing him with warmth as she kissed him again, hungry and frenzied. Tsukishima fumbled against her, shocked when he felt her force his hand to cup her breast, moving his fingers against the red knit in a kneading motion. Her other arm wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer.

 

This felt wrong, and forced, and sad. But he didn’t fight her. Didn’t push her away because he understood her need, her desperation.

 

It was the same reason he had asked Kuroo to stay that night weeks ago.

 

It was one last attempt—one last plea, asking him to give her a chance.

 

That she could make him happy.

 

Tsukishima opened his mouth, his tongue darting into her own, tasting her in the heat of the moment. He licked and prodded her tongue, using bruising force against her lips as she willingly let him take over. His hand on her breast palmed her, massaging the mound as she moaned against his mouth, giddy with the blond’s new found enthusiasm. Tsukishima pushed her against her door, pinning the ravenhead against him. The hand around his neck moving to his golden locks, gripping brutally as she pulled his head to the side to taste him better.

 

She was willing to give him a lifetime of happiness if he asked. So he was willing to give her this moment. And even if she was too soft, too small, and too wrong for a number of reasons, he forced himself to give her this—this brief instant.

 

He didn’t want to disappoint her anymore.

 

So he kept on kissing her, their teeth clinking against one another’s like glass. And each gasp of air or quiet moan from her made it harder and harder to refuse her. To say no to her offer.

 

He wondered if it was this hard for Kuroo to say no to him, too.

 

Maybe the older man just pitied the blond all along, placating him and appeasing his desperation like Tsukishima was Aoki. Was Tsukishima no better, destined to string this girl along until she cried and moped and yearned for more of his attention for years to come? Was she destined to be waiting around for a moment's attention that would drive her to seek out more of his love that would never truly belong to her?

 

Because she would never be enough for the blond to love her back. No one would be enough to replace Kuroo in Tsukishima’s heart.

 

But it was in this moment, frisking and kissing this girl he couldn’t love—his rock-bottom, that he realized that _he_ was the one who was never enough for Kuroo.

 

And that would never change.

 

He was gentle when he pulled away from her, stepping back as her eyes opened to disappointment. He never wanted to be the one to break her heart. He never thought himself capable of doing that to anyone at all.

 

It was always his heart that needed healing.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping further away as Aoki slowly sank to the ground in disbelief, dropping onto her welcome mat in a heap.

 

"I'm sorry," he repeated, walking backward toward the elevator door. She was still so pretty, even with tears streaming down her face. The kind of pretty girl his mother would have wanted him to bring home, marry, and have a life with.

 

But this pretty girl wasn’t Kuroo.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

She was not enough to help him forget, either.

 

He finally turned away from her, leaving her crying at her doorstep. When the blond walked back outside her building, the cold air hit his face, his skin stinging against the winter frost. He looked around, not seeing the taxi anywhere in sight. If he wasn't drunk, he might have called another taxi to take him home. If he wasn't in a state of shame, he might have called Yamaguchi to pick him up. If he didn't just destroy a girl who deserved the world, he might have called Akaashi. But he couldn't bear to be around someone else—anyone else that might be cut with the knife that was Tsukishima Kei. Sharp, cold, and fatal.

 

He turned down the street, walking away from Aoki’s place and the melancholy cry that caught his ears. He didn’t know how, but he had somehow walked all the way home. When he finally reached his door and opened it, the morning sun had started to peek over the horizon from the view at his window.

 

Tsukishima toed off his shoes slowly, his feet burning from the walk he couldn’t remember. The blond didn’t bother changing or brushing his teeth before he dropped himself on his bed, thinking back to Aoki and the kiss.

 

He could have done a lot of things: could have given her a chance, could have just tried to let himself open up to more people, could have tried harder with the other men he’s dated.

 

Could have moved on a long time ago.

 

But he didn’t, because no one was good enough.

 

Yet.

 

He refused to give up. He refused to believe that he wouldn’t find happiness.

 

But he wouldn’t settle—not for some silly girl who wished he was different and not for the strangers who could never compare—not until he met that someone who made him completely forget about Kuroo Tetsurou.

 

Only then would he finally give his heart out again.

 

Tsukishima fell asleep with his coat on, dreaming of a time that his heart didn’t hurt and his hand held another’s. As he slept, he hoped—he _wished_ that someone was out there, dreaming, waiting for him too.

 

**_February 5_ **

 

**Hinata**

 

Hinata sat at the far side of the coffee shop with two mugs of warm tea and a plated piece of apple pie in the middle of the small table for two—a pair of forks resting on the plate untouched as the morning rush of patrons dwindled down to few. He and Kenma had agreed to meet at 9, but Hinata had been too restless to wait. The ginger had gotten there an hour early to get their favorite table in the back and had asked one of the servers if he could wait to deliver his order till a quarter before the designated meeting time. That way, the pie would still be warm by the time his boyfriend showed up.

 

_If_ he showed up.

 

Nerves tangled and braided more and more like unkempt vines every moment that Hinata was left waiting for the doom he was positive was coming his way—thorns peeking out, drawing blood. He and Kenma had never had this big of a fight before, ever. They argued, like any couple, mostly about dumb trivial things that eventually sorted themselves out.

 

But Hinata had never said anything quite as spiteful to the bottle blond before.

 

It was more than a mere slip up. It was a landslide of a fuck up.

 

The ginger had panicked and wounded his boyfriend—buried his efforts in mud and scorned his endeavor to take a leap of faith with their future. Hinata has been eager for his boyfriend to try to be more bold with their relationship, so of course it's only when Kenma finally does that the ginger would go right ahead and mess everything up.

 

His plan so far consisted of waving down the former setter (hopefully not get punched in the face if he was lucky), allow him to quietly eat his pie until he spoke first, tell the bottle blond that he missed him (one whole week of not talking and two weeks without seeing each other really destroyed Hinata—he had moped around at the firehouse these past few days since he had to wait till his day off to properly see Kenma), and then apologize for being a complete asshole (from a scale of 1-10 on how big of an asshole he was, he was treading close to Tsukishima’s level of 11). If all goes well, Hinata might even be able to tell Kenma that he was wrong to say what he said.

 

He hit below the belt and Kenma was nothing more than collateral damage to Hinata’s cold feet. Fear prickled against his bone even now, just minutes away from moving forward from their worst fight to date, or…

 

_No, it's fine. I'm fine. He'll forgive me, he will, because he's nice and thoughtful and warm and kind and nice and thoughtful and warm and AND GODDAMMIT WHY WOULD HE?? I WAS A DUMBASS. There's no way he'll forgive me. I'm always just mememememe and he’s always trying harder and I always take him for granted and—_

 

The same inner monologue has been running through his head since the moment Kenma walked out his door two weeks ago, running away from Hinata as if he was a stranger. He ran to stop him, but failed, watching him scurry away from their problems and Hinata's resistance to their future. The ginger could still feel a soft soreness along his side, his bruise finally gone but the damage still very much present. Hinata had countless of scars that each had their own story, each accounting for some heroic endeavor that he jumped head first in without thinking. He never thought he would inflict those marks and wounds on Kenma, who did nothing to earn them. That's what happens when he just didn't think things through.

 

Shame rested in his chest and Kenma was that breath of fresh air that he needed. Always needed. So why was he so afraid to dive in head first and move in with the man he wanted?

 

Maybe he just didn't think of himself as a full-fledged adult yet, still shifting and changing and molting his feathers into someone he always thought he'd be eventually. And maybe he didn't think he was ready to be that person yet. But Kenma was...and he had every right to get tired of waiting on Hinata to get his shit together.

 

_No. Stop._ The redhead feverently shook his head, drawing a couple of looks from some patrons. He was here to apologize on how he reacted to Kenma, not about his decision. He couldn’t force himself to be ready and willing—moving in together still seemed too soon for him. He didn’t want Kenma to think that Hinata doesn’t appreciate him, he really does. More than he would ever know.

 

Kenma had been the only reason Hinata ever became the man that he was today. The bottle blond was the only reason Hinata could stand tall and be sure of who he was. He's gone above and beyond for the ginger boy.

 

The only reason Hinata was able to choose a high caliber university from the few that had scouted him in his third year was only because Kenma had established study sessions every weekend the year before. They went over material on Skype so Hinata would not only stay on track with his studies but finally receive good marks on his test (even _English!)._ He had just gotten by with his grades, Yachi also lending a hand, and surprisingly, _Tsukishima_ (though, he's pretty sure that Kenma had asked Kuroo to put in a favor with the blond beanpole). He was able to keep playing volleyball, go to college (his mom, Yachi, and Takeda-sensei had simultaneously burst out into tears when he received his acceptance letters) and choose a school in Tokyo. Closer to Kenma, who had also admitted that he wanted Hinata to be nearby.

 

_“Cause we’re close friends...and I like hanging out with you,” the blond mumbled into the speaker through the screen, his ears glowing pink_.

 

Kenma was the one who assured him that his mom would still love him if Hinata told her that he was gay. The ginger only gained enough courage because Kenma assured him that he would still have someone there who cared for him. When he did tell her, the elder Hinata all but smiled and hugged her firstborn, telling him that she knew and that she loved him.

 

_“Kenma?”_

 

_“Yeah. I wouldn’t have said anything if he didn’t, ya know, think it was a good idea.”_

 

_The elder woman smiled, bringing her hand to stroke back the strands of hair that covered the redhead’s forehead, her thumb gently tracing his hairline._

 

_“I like that boy,” she said, the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes crinkling, “he’s good to you.”_

 

_“Yeah! He’s awesome,” the boy beamed, “He’s, like, one of my coolest friends!”_

 

_The woman turned back around where she had been starting on dinner, chuckling at her son’s enthusiasm toward the older city boy._

 

_“Just a friend?” she asked, implication thick in her tone._

 

_Hinata blinked, and blinked, and blinked, caught off guard as he felt his cheeks burn and the hair on his arms rise._

 

After so many more things that the former setter had gone out of his way to do for the ginger, he had never once asked anything in return. Hinata couldn't count the amount of time that Kenma had come through for him—the times that he’d been a shoulder to lean on, a shield to protect him, a pillar whose structure never faltered. He was good, too good for someone like Hinata. All the bottle blond had seemed to ever want in return was Hinata's happiness.

 

And Hinata was always too selfish to let go. Kenma was his rock, his anchor. And, he had also become a great distraction when the redhead tried not to think about Kageyama.

 

From the corner of his eye, he saw a head of bleached hair walking passed the windows at the front of the cafe, stopping by the shop entrance. The redhead shot out from his seat, standing frozen as he watched the man pull open the door and heard a soft bell ring. The barista behind the bartop welcomed him in, the sound of steam filtering in the background like white noise.

 

Kenma inclined his head at the welcome, his large jacket drowning him as his eyes searched around the small, mostly empty establishment. When he finally caught sight of Hinata, the ginger held his breath. Next thing he knew, he had thrown caution—and his plan—to the wind as he made quick strides up to the older boy and wrapped the full length of his limbs—from his defined shoulders to his small fingertips (calloused not only from spiking and work, but from rubbing salt in wounds)—around the petite blond.

 

Kenma stiffened, his arms lifted at his sides as Hinata nuzzled his face on the crook of the blond’s neck, smelling cigarette smoke and something sweet.

 

“I’m sorry!” the younger man cried into the pulse of the blond’s throat, strands of hair tickling the side of Hinata's cheek, “I am so _so_ ** _so_** sorry!” He pinched his eyes shut, breathing in the older man’s scent carefully. His heart felt panicked and hurried, not really sure if he could resist the stinging behind his eyes.

 

“Shouyou?” Kenma whispered, his posture still stiff in the redhead’s arms. He was probably getting a few strange looks his way and was probably making Kenma really uncomfortable or self-conscious, but he held on tighter.

 

“I’m sorry, Kenma,” he said, his words muffled as his lips spoke against soft, blushing skin, “I’m-I’m such an _idiot_ . Please, just—I missed you. God, I missed you. _So much_ . So much Kenma. Just, _fuck_ , I’m so sorry.”

 

Even with college and study sessions and a career, Hinata failed to find the right words. The words that might just fix everything. He repeated himself over and over, curses and cries and words of remorse slipping from his lips.

 

How long had they been standing there, blocking the entrance into the small cafe as their tea grew colder and the pie laid forgotten? Hinata didn’t really care, keeping in mind that all that mattered was that he didn’t let Kenma go, didn’t let him leave again. This was his one shot to fix everything. He wouldn’t let go until he was certain Kenma knew every ounce of regret the redhead was feeling.

 

Then, warmth found it’s way around Hinata’s waist, soft hands pressing on his spine like a gentle kiss. The hesitance was obvious, as well as the awkwardness, but Kenma still wrapped himself fully around the redhead, his chin leaning into the younger boy’s collarbone.

 

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Hinata whispered, his heart clenching at the weight of Kenma’s head leaning next to his own, “I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, really. I was wrong to say that. I panicked, I’m sorry.” He kept repeating himself, muffling out apology after apology against the blond.

 

Then the older boy nodded, tickling his ear with light fine hairs.

 

“I know. I’m sorry, too.”

 

After another two minutes of their embrace, Kenma started to fidget from the attention they had from others in the tiny cafe (even if it was just the two baristas and an elderly woman). Hinata pulled away, gently grabbing the other's wrist and lead them to the table in the back where their too-sweet breakfast awaited.

 

They sat, Kenma pulling off his coat against the back of his seat. The former setter took a sip of his still warm tea as Hinata drank the boy in, wondering if Kenma had always looked so cool. The ginger grabbed his fork, and waited for Kenma to do the same before he dug in, watching as the blond kept sending shy looks his way as he slowly chewed.  

 

There were four chunks missing from the pie when Kenma finally spoke up.

 

“You know, I feel kinda lost.”

 

“Lost? Why’s that?” Hinata asked, a bit of whip cream sticking to the top of his lip. The blond smirked, moving his hand up then back down unsure. The redhead watched as his boyfriend gulped, looked back up before slowly reaching across the small table and wiped the cream off with his pinkie. Hinata blushed fiercely at the innocent touch.

 

"Well," he starts bashfully, looking away from Hinata's face so he couldn't see how flustered he looked, "I came here and...I was supposed to apologize first. I had it all thought out too. Now, my order is all messed up. I don't even know how to start."

 

“Don’t,” Hinata interjected, “you don’t have to start. There’s no reason for you to apologize, I was being a dumbass.”

 

“That’s...sweet. But, I bombarded you with a new apartment and the assumption you’d be moving in too, and that wasn’t okay. I—I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his shoes. His voice dropped to a whisper, “You were right—and I can’t believe I almost let something so dumb get in between us. I’m sorry.”

 

“Kenma, look at me,” Hinata grabbed the older boy's hand, the fork in his grip dropping onto the table, “I’m the one who’s wrong. I’m the idiot who’s too scared to move in together. Okay? It’s me who’s the dumb one, _always_. And I’m too selfish to share that title with you. So you’re stuck being the smart one. Got it?”

 

“But—”

 

"Got it?" he repeated, wanting the other boy to agree. He meant every word. He always knew Kenma was too good for him, deserved more. He deserved someone who was willing to take those steps with the blond and deserved someone who could give him the world because he deserved nothing less. He didn't deserve reluctance or unsureness. He didn't deserve to end up with someone like Hinata, stupid and dependent and selfish.

 

The blond nodded.

 

“Good.”

 

But the redhead _was_ selfish, and if Kenma was still willing to be with Hinata then the redhead wouldn’t convince him otherwise. Yeah, sure, he was a dumbass, but he wasn’t _that much_ of a dumbass to ruin any second chance Kenma was giving him just because he knew that he wasn’t good enough. If Kenma was okay with settling for the ginger, then Hinata wasn’t going to take it for granted.

 

“Shouyou?” Hinata locked onto sharp, topaz eyes that stared back with such softness, Hinata could have just melted right then and there.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I missed you.”

 

Two weeks without Kenma's smile was rough. One week of complete radio silence from the blond was torture. But this—this beautiful, electric feeling that built up inside him whenever the older boy looked at him with so much love would have been impossible to endure for a moment longer. To think that he hadn't turned into a complete wreck was astounding because he didn't think that he would ever move on if they ever actually broke up.

 

“Me too.”

 

“You did?” Kenma asked, biting his bottom lip from nerves. Hinata felt his heart swoon.

 

“Yeah. I missed you like crazy.”

 

They ended up leaving not long after that, leaving a tip as they exited through the door and walked down the street to the train. Their knuckles brushed against the other, walking almost shoulder to shoulder as they maneuvered past the Tokyo crowd. When the redhead became unsure if he should reach out or not, he felt Kenma soft hand glide along his palm until their fingers laced together.

 

He looked up to see his boyfriend looking straight ahead, a small smile surrounded by cheeks painted pink. Taking the wheel was always Hinata's thing, always initiating them forward as a couple. But this bolder Kenma, the one who took risks and reached out first, is something Hinata could get very much used to. No longer afraid of taking a leap, Kenma had just made Hinata fall even more in love with him if it were possible. Even if he sometimes stumbled, Kenma would be there catch him.

 

**Oikawa**

 

Hiding away from the public eye was what Oikawa had been doing since the news got out about he and Ushijima a week ago, held prisoner in his own home out of fear of the press and the masses. The setter was known for being out and about amongst the general populous and almost always surrounded by fans, but Oikawa had been wary. There had been a lot of news circling around the couple, speculating about their relationship. A few articles from well-known sites were particularly cruel and bigoted about their status, spitting out biased and close-minded rhetoric that made Oikawa question how the words ‘respected’ and ‘valid’ became associated with the reporters in the first place.

 

And even though Oikawa knew better than to look online (Ushijima had been very annoying all week, hiding the brunet's phone and changing the wifi password so Oikawa wouldn't succumb to the curiosity of the interwebs) he _had_ to know. He had to know what was being said about him. Being someone who thrived, no, _lived_ off of his fans’ love for him and the publicity he received from both his good looks and superb talents, Oikawa couldn't _not_ check for himself.

 

On Monday, after many failed attempts, he finally guessed his neighbor’s wifi password correctly (1223334444, very original) and google-searched himself—a practice that he practiced every other day. And in the first time in forever, Oikawa did not like most of what he found.

 

Never had the chestnut haired man been the focus of such disgusting slander and hate. It took all of twenty minutes on his laptop to march back into his own room and cry his eyes out again. Ushijima returned from practice to find Oikawa in the same state as the day their relationship went public.

 

Breaking down every other hour had become a chore for the handsome setter, exhausting himself as he failed to keep his nerves in check. All the falls of depression and low moments kept Oikawa in his apartment like a hermit for a week.

 

Ushijima had been absent for one day and then showed up to practice the next. He seemed barely fazed from the scandal, pushing his way passed all the paparazzi and ignoring people who begged for juicy details or public statements about their _private_ life. Oikawa wasn't sure if his boyfriend even noticed or if he simply wasn't bothered by the cameras and tape recorders being shoved in his face. After the fourth day, Oikawa had asked how the large spiker wasn't a complete mess unlike himself. He simply said:

 

_“I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Your opinion is the only one that's important when it comes to us.”_

 

Oikawa envied his simple rationality, it made everything more bearable. Ushijima was right, nothing that anyone else said would change either man’s mind when it came to each other. The press didn’t determine what they were to each other, only them. But it still stung as Oikawa would read articles and forums and catch the words like _‘faggot’_ all over the comments.

 

He was still hurting, but after hearing his boyfriend’s constant reassurances, Oikawa started to feel like himself again. He needed to take a short break and allow the buzz around him to die down before he could go out in public again with confidence.

 

The vultures outside, however, were not making it easy.

 

They were ruthless, constantly bombarding Ushijima as he came and went from their building, shamelessly spouting out intrusive questions.

 

_“How long have you been secretly seeing each other?”_

 

_“Did you always know you were a homosexual?”_

 

_“Why have you been lying to your fans?”_

 

_“Do you think that your relationship will have an effect on your team?”_

 

_“When should we expect Oikawa to make a formal apology to the public?”_

 

Oikawa had been so anxious to deal with them that he was forced to use the treadmill in the apartment gym so he wouldn't be spotted if he tried to venture outside for his morning runs. It was ridiculous.

 

Oikawa still couldn’t get over how the couple had ordered pizza on Wednesday night, only for the delivery boy to pull out some fancy camera and blind the setter with flashes the moment he opened the door (the kid didn’t get the last laugh, however, when Ushijima stepped up and knocked down the camera where it completely shattered to pieces. Since the fucker had been trespassing, all he could do was run away and not wet his pants at the threatening aura from the large ace, else there might have been some serious backlash on the couple and Ushijima’s temper).

 

He’s had no peace in his own home for a week and it was even seriously starting to affect his complexion—small blemishes peppering on his chin ( _“Where?”_ Ushijima asked, squinting as he carefully looked at the setter’s chin, seeing no such imperfection. _“Right there, Waka-chan!”_ Oikawa whined, pointing to the bumps running along underneath his bottom lip. When his boyfriend shook his head, saying that he didn’t see anything, Oikawa bolted back into the bathroom, rigorously lathering on his face scrub).

 

Quarantined, Oikawa took the time to message everyone who had tried to get in touch with him back, letting them know that he was okay, each in his own special way. He called back his family who had been worried sick and made sure that his coach hadn’t benched him due to his absence. His friends, however, needed a little more reassurance.

 

_To: Satan#1_

_\- Makki!! All is well, I’m just staying out of the limelight for a while. Giving someone else a moment in the spotlight. But the Great Oikawa Tooru will return with a vengeance and take what’s rightfully mine, looking just as fabulous as always (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ ! Just need a few vacation days to cleanse my aura and realign my chakras #namastelife #atpeace (˘ʃƪ˘). Also, don’t you think that was a low blow, commenting on how my nose was “running like a broken fire hydrant”? It wasn’t projectile dripping, my nose was gently weeping with me,_ **_empathetic_ ** _of my plight unlike you insensitive heathens!!_

_Anyways, I’ll see when I can make time for both you and Mattsun to thoroughly interrogate me...100% can’t wait. Love you both, thank you -_

 

_To: Mini-Me~_

_\- !!! AAH OMG, Yahaba-chan, YAS_ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ _! A spa day is exactly what I need. Spending a whole day just spilling and talking shit and planning murders, I can’t wait_ ╰( *ˊᵕˋ* )╯ _. Make an appointment and I’ll be there_ _✧*｡٩(_ _ˊᗜˋ*)و_ _✧*｡!!_ _Text me what day works! Thank you Yahaba-chan! -_

 

_To: Katboy <3 _

_\- Holy crap, Kuro-chan, shut up_ _._ _Everything is fine. I know you can’t get enough of my voice, but stop calling me already, my voicemail is completely full and at least half of those are from you! I don’t even know what you’re saying, it reminds me of that time you got a fishbone caught in your throat and you were too scared to swallow or make any movements with your mouth so you spent a solid forty-five minutes making alarm noises as a mode of communication. Also, I’d love to reluctantly eat with you, provided that you’re buying, of course_ _(◡‿◡✿)_ _! I do really appreciate your suffocating love, Kuro-chan, you remind me of the smothering mother I moved out of the house to avoid!_

_Waka-chan says “Hello” in his grumpy happy voice and wants to see you soon. Off topic too, but we also have to figure out what groomsmen gift we’re giving Kou-chan. (Don’t let Waka-chan convince you into getting a plant. I know he’s swaying you with that flower language thing, but_ **_no._ ** _I don’t care if he finds a flower that represents the meaning of life, if he brings up plants one more time, IS2G (_ _ノಠ益ಠ_ _)_ _ノ!!!_ _) Let’s meet up soon before you break into our apartment. OH, btw, Kei-chan lost your scarf ٩(•̤̀ᵕ_ _•̤́_ ๑ _) -_

 

_To: AkaAagahaGashi_

_\- Hey, Kashi-chan. Thanks for giving me a heads up on your boy, I’ll make sure he doesn’t break down my front door (again). I would love to talk about a statement, I figured I’d need one soon, thank you. Btw, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kou-chan and I just practice late. No biggie, everyone needs to chill~ -_

 

_To: Bokuto Koutarou_

_\- Kou-chan, I really hope that’s your autocorrect speaking, because I didn’t want 45 messages worth of spam talking about toilet bowl cuisines and anthropomorphic art supplies. Also, what have you been doing you doofus??? Your Kashi-chan is getting super suspicious and his messages are getting borderline hysterical_ _(⊙_⊙)._ _-_

 

Over two dozen or so people had spammed his phone, (even Tobio sent a picture of soft petals, texting _everything is okay, Hana-san is there for you)_  questioning what was going on or asking if he was okay. However, every new call or text only filled Oikawa with anxiety, constantly looking at his screen for a new notification. He wasn't scared that some reporter would get his private number or annoyed with the constant worrying from his friends. No.

 

Of all the missed messages, missed calls, not one of them was from Iwa-chan.

 

Not a single fucking one. Which was  _blasphemy_  seeing as how, being the setter’s best friend, he had an obligation—no, a _privilege_  to check up on the brunet to make sure he was doing well, or at least to make sure he wasn't falling apart. Iwa-chan should have texted the first day telling Oikawa that he was going to get answers from the chestnut haired man or he'd strangle it out of him, and Oikawa would give them. He expected him to show up the  _hour_  the news got out with a suitcase and plane tickets to  _Jamaica_ for a month-long break of healing (something Oikawa would for sure 100% have done for him), _but Iwa-chan didn’t._  His best friend should have  _at least_  called him on the second day (and even the second day was pushing it, like he had expected before,  _the hour the news came out)_  to scream at him for not telling him about his boyfriend sooner, and he would’ve taken it. He should have at least barged in, yelling at him to not wallow around his apartment, and Oikawa would’ve let him stay to lecture him further. He even would’ve been fine with Iwa-chan throwing some sci-fi movie DVDs in his face at the door and leaving without a word. But nothing. One whole week of radio silence. The only time they had gone this long without contacting each other was when they had broken up.

 

At first, he had been upset, wondering if his friend really hated him now for lying. Then he became restless, wondering if this was the calm before the storm. Now, he was starting to get  _pissed._

 

Sure, yeah, Oikawa lied (technically omitted, but that's beside the point) about being in a long-term relationship with his nemesis under everyone's noses and continued to pretend they were nothing more than teammates who roomed together. Big whoop. Oikawa could have done (and now that he thinks about it,  _had_ done) a lot worse. He's more than certain that if he murdered someone and called Iwa-chan to bury the body, his grumpy best friend would get over it faster than he seems to be getting over setter's current predicament.

 

So why  _the fuck_  was his inbox empty of impending death threats and beyond degrading pet names?!

 

He wasn’t asking for much, just for his best friend to forgive him, apologize for ignoring him, then console him on his fucked up dilemma. It’s not like he was asking for the moon!

 

Maybe he was being bratty. Or petty. But Oikawa has had a tough week so being a little unreasonable wasn’t really  _that_  unreasonable. So instead of finding some sort of distraction from all the hate and smear campaigns, he decided to distract himself from Iwa-chan—by wearing a totally masterful disguise consisting of an old baseball cap and heavily-tinted sunglasses as he snuck out through the back entrance of his apartment building, and ventured to practice  _fashionably_  late.

 

He had seen the janitor come in and out of the back exit to take his smoke breaks, figuring out exactly how to make his way out of the building undetected. Oikawa was willing to endure hat-hair just so he could get some fresh air and forget about his best friend ignoring him.

 

When he rounded the corner in the alleyway, he peeked his head out from the dumpster on his side, making sure the coast was clear of any questionable people (paparazzi and delinquents alike). Carefully, he walked out from the shadows and managed to merge into the foot traffic of the city, pulling his coat collar up to his chin. His duffle bag bounced against his shoulder blades as he briskly walked to the train station, trying his best to blend in with the commoners before him, all unaware that the weirdo— _eccentric_  trendsetter—with the faded hat and too-big sunglasses was, in fact, the Great Oikawa Tooru.

 

Under normal circumstances, the setter would be surrounded by a hoard of fans as he walked through the streets, but now, Oikawa jumped out of his skin whenever he saw someone glance his way, terrified that he’d be recognized. His felt like he had a big neon sign above his head flashing, letting everyone know his fame and insecurities with each step.

 

Step. Oikawa Tooru, setter extraordinaire and celebrity.

 

Step. _Queer._

 

Step. Vice-captain of the JVB team.

 

Step.  _Fairy._

 

Step. Glorious dream boat and Japan’s sexiest man of the year.

 

Step.  _Queen._

 

Step. National treasure.

 

Step.  _Faggot._

 

He swept again along the crowd of Tokyo, his eyes darting from one pair of eyes to another, hoping none looked at him with recognition. Paranoia chilled his bones, goosebumps tickling his skin. When he finally made it to the train, he let out the breath as he squeezed into a cart. The brunet took out his phone, trying to keep his face from view and act like a normal person.

 

He clicked on every new notice he had gotten since he left his apartment: a calendar reminder about his dentist appointment, his poetic lunar app notification about the crescent moon coming up,  _no new messages from Iwa-chan_ , a dozen new DMs, an email from Akaashi, a notice that he hit his walking goal for the morning,  _still no new text from his awful best friend_ —

 

_Ugh! This is so annoying!_  The chestnut haired heartthrob was never one for self-control, but Iwa-chan knew how trivial Oikawa was and  _still_  refused to text him first. He was blatantly giving the setter reason to worry and was expecting Oikawa,  _of all people_ , to be the bigger person and reach out. But Oikawa was above that sort of immaturity.

 

_He doesn’t want to talk to me, fine. Fine! I don’t want to talk to him either! Whatever, I’ll just go to practice. I don’t need the press getting me down, stupid Iwa-chan and his stupid lack of concern to get me down. Down? No way, baby, there’s only up for me! Head in the game, staying woke and staying on top. Staying on that grind. Always focused, always working. Blessed life, stay humbled. Number one, never two. All this hate is motivation for me. My greatness never quits, I NEVER QUIT! I’M GREAT! I’M OIKAWA FUCKING TOORU. I’M THE BEE’S FREAKIN’ KNEES!! TOO-RU, TOO-RU, TOO-RU!! YEAAH YEAAHHH!!!!! I’ll show him. I’ll show them all!!!!!_

 

With renewed vigor, Oikawa straightened his spine and held his head up after an entire week of fixing his gaze to his feet. When the train got to his stop, he had a pep to his step as he made his way to the national team’s gymnasium.

 

Walking into the empty locker rooms, Oikawa quickly changed into his practice gear, taking note of the additional duffle bags that littered some of the benches. The setter finally realized that the extra baggage probably belonged to the players who lived outside of Tokyo during the off season. Seeing as the tour was starting soon, some familiar and  _unpleasant_  members would be showing up for practice in the weeks to come.

 

The sound of balls hitting the ends of the court and sneakers squeaking against the wooden floor resonated as the starting setter walked into the practice gym. Some of the chatter from a few benchwarmers stopped when he passed them and the rest of the regulars slowly started to notice his attendance. The confidence that Oikawa had formed since his train ride had begun to dissipate, the knot stuck in his throat twisted and hardened into boulders that sank down his gut. Just as he began to think that venturing out into the world was a horrible idea and he should go back to his room and hide, a small bundle of black and blond blurred across the gym and tackled him to the ground.

 

Oikawa hit the floor with a thump, the wood cold beneath his clothed back. His shoulders stung from the fall, but the weight on his chest and stomach was of more concern at the moment.

 

“Holy shit, you’re alive!” Nishinoya belted, arms around the handsome setter’s shoulders. Oikawa tried to collect himself and reply past his bewilderment, but next thing he knew, both he and the tiny libero were lifted off the ground until his feet hung a few centimeters off the floor. Sandwiched between a pair of beefy arms, the chestnut haired man turned his head and caught sight of silver and black streaks from the corner of his eyes. He sighed, a small smirk catching on his face as Bokuto and Nishinoya clung to him like koalas.

 

“OIKAWA!! We missed you!” Bokuto yelled, causing the setter to turn his ear away from the screeching.

 

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been here for days and you barely showed up!” The libero yelled in equal (if not greater) volume, trapping Oikawa (and his precious ears) to endure the screaming on both ends.  

 

“Akaaghshi said you didn’t want to see me!”

 

“Miss more practice and Kageyama is gonna take your spot, bitch!”

 

“Ushijima said it wasn’t true! But why would Akaghaghshi lie to me?!”

 

“I was worried about you, pretty boy! Why you making me worried, hah!?”

 

“Miya was being too nice to me! I think he was making fun of me in secret! HALP!”

 

“I’ll beat you up and skewer you next time you make me worry!”

 

“You didn’t tell Akaagghshi about  _the thing_ , right?”

 

Oikawa wasn't certain what to reply to first, or at all. Overwhelmed with his teammate's ambush he allowed himself to be manhandled roughly until a cough interrupted the other two's roughhousing. All three turned their heads to Ushijima standing to their side, a pleasant expression on his face as he quirked a brow to Oikawa. The setter felt the corner of his lips turn up, hoping his boyfriend could be of some assistance.

 

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Ushijima said, his barely-there smile turning the stones in Oikawa’s stomach into fluttering butterflies.

 

“Figured the rest of the team had gone too long without me gracing them with my presence,” the chestnut haired setter said, a taunting tilt to his head making his bangs fall against his forehead.  

 

“Pretty sure most of us don’t feel that way,” the tiny libero jibed, a snickering Bokuto finally letting the two down. Oikawa huffed in playful annoyance.

 

“How can you say that after the emotional week I’ve had, Noya-chan!!?” he whined, hands fisted at his side as he pouted at the laughter both Bokuto and Nishinoya cracked at his expense.

 

“Hey, that was all your fault,” Bokuto chided, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “You’re the one who took so long to show your face! I would have cheered you up in a second!” he vouched. Nishinoya nodded his head in agreement, patting (hitting) the setter’s back harshly.

 

“No need for the strong face,” the short stacked libero consoled, a genuine gleam in his eyes shined as he placed his hand on the taller man’s shoulder, “We’re all just glad you’re okay.” Though Oikawa wanted to argue and claim that all was fine, that he was fine, he stopped himself. If anyone else knew what Oikawa must be going through, it was Nishinoya and Bokuto, who had both at some point dealt with the onslaught of disgusting rumours and accusations throw their way because they wanted their relationships with their partners to be public knowledge. They seemed happy with their decisions, still very much with said partners and still ignoring the haters that crossed their path.

 

Oikawa envied them, wondering if he'd ever get to the same level of comfort and normalcy that both dual hair teammates seemed to have found being officially ‘out'. His heart felt full, the simple words lifting the heavy anxiety that rested on his chest for a week.

 

“Thank you,” he said. Simple, sweet, and honestly, glad to have been lucky enough to have friends as intrusive and as selfless as them. Nishinoya returned with a large smile, words already dancing on his lips.

 

“If you ever wanna talk to som—”

 

"If you ever wanna talk to someone," Bokuto pushed through, interrupting Noya altogether, "I'm always here! I know all about this stuff and press! Akaakghshi too!" The libero's brow twitched at the interruption but he didn't say anything, taking the high strung wing-spiker in stride like the rest of them.

 

"Thanks, Kou-chan," he said, "I'll remember that." With that, the two hyperactive teammates rushed back to the individual practice on the other side of the gym, telling Oikawa that they'd better not see him slacking. The setter half smiled after them, knowing he'd have to endure the rest of the day with similar antics and awkward consolation. He was already dreading it. Hopefully, no one would treat him differently than before, especially seeing as he and his boyfriend weren't really the type for public displays of affecti—

 

Soft, warm lips grazed his cheekbone gently, the chapped skin and barely there scruff against his boyfriend’s chin tickled his handsome face. Oikawa’s eyes widened as light air danced between their skin, Ushijima’s mouth a hair’s breadth away.

 

The quiet mumbling and hard looks the setter received when he first walked in the gym were nothing like the absolute silence that fell around them now. Once the setter finally processed the poorly timed kiss, his brows creased as he went from shock to braindead. Oikawa brought his hand up to skim over the wet spot as he turned to Ushijima, the ace finally taking a full step back looking  _far_  too pleased with himself. The butterflies in his stomach had now turned into hot, blaring  _fireworks._

 

Then Ushijima smirked.

 

_Like a fucking asshole._  Ushijima turned away from his boyfriend, walking back to the far court, seemingly unconcerned with their teammates shocked (and amused?) faces.

 

“Hurry up and stretch,” the larger man said over his shoulder, “We’ve already wasted plenty of practice time. You especially.”

 

Oikawa choked on his spit. He puffed his cheeks as his face turned red.

 

“Just because everyone knows doesn’t mean you can be so casual, Waka-chan!” He yelled, a pout making him look even brattier. The ace just kept on his way, unapologetic and continued his practice with Sakusa as if nothing happened. As Oikawa crossed his arms and made his way to the coaches, his blushed remained, the wet spot on his cheek slightly hotter than the rest.  

 

Luckily, the coaches found pity on him, brushing off his week on absence with a slap on the wrist and a warning. As he sat next to the far wall and began his stretches, a vile stench drifted under his nose. _The stench of hubris._

 

Seeing as Oikawa spritzed on some  _Bleu de Chanel_  just this morning, it couldn’t be himself. Which left the only other team member with an ego as big as his.

 

"My, my, Oikawa. I was starting to worry that'd you'd never show up." The former Seijoh captain tipped his head up to Miya Atsumu, the over confident setter extraordinaire with his cocky smile and a knack for getting under Oikawa's skin.

 

“Miya-chan,” he leered, stretching the name with a too-sweet tone, “didn’t expect to see you for another couple of weeks. What happened? Did Poland want to get rid of you that badly?”

 

Oikawa couldn’t help the smug grin the grew on his face when Miya’s smile twitched, a hefty sign that he was still bitter over his Polish club’s loss only a few weeks ago.

 

"Unfortunately the season ended for us sooner than expected. As I'm sure you know." Of course, Oikawa knew. He kept up with the younger man's stats and games, always staying on top of his competition. It was already a lot staying in tip-top shape with Kageyama looming in the shadows ready to take his spot permanently. Miya was a whole other dilemma, that luckily seemed to stay away in Europe for six months of the year. Being around the younger setter brought out an ugliness that Oikawa didn't know he possessed seeing as how he was so blessed with beauty.

 

“Then again,” Miya added, “not as quickly as your season did, at least.”

 

The patience that Oikawa saved up for the past couple of months had all been for the purpose of being able to be around Miya without gauging the other man’s eyes out with a used, rusty spoon. Probably wasn’t going to last the entirety of the tour. The fake smiles they threw each other didn’t diffuse the voltage that sparked between their glares. A low, awkward cough pulled them both from the staring contest.

 

“Um,” Kageyama said, a volleyball held in both hands in front of him as he looked between his two senpais with unease, “Ushijima-san told me to tell you guys to, um,” he looked up, trying to remember what the exact words were,  _“'play nice'._  Or he was going to send over Aone-san to reprimand you both.”

 

A shiver ran down Oikawa’s spine, mutely reminded about the few times Aone would stare him down whenever he did something stupid during practice. Seeing the look on Miya’s face, he seemed to be remembering a similar encounter with the large middle-blocker as well. The light haired setter huffed as he walked away from Oikawa, the latter getting back to his stretches.

 

After that, practice went smoothly. Some of the players who were away for their individual clubs fell right into place with the home-based players, their timing and game-play in sync with the rest. Oikawa felt like nothing was different, like nothing had shifted in his world. In here, he wasn’t bombarded with questions and scandal. He was just a setter.

 

Within the gym walls, he was the confident Oikawa Tooru he had always dreamt of being.

 

He didn’t feel as small as he did out in the world.

 

After the hours had passed and the rest of his teammates had given their positive support towards the setter, Oikawa was warming down next to his boyfriend, both taking their time as the rest of the team fizzled out the door. When they finished, they washed up and gathered their things, both exiting the locker room slowly. Standing in front of the building’s exit, Oikawa stopped. Beyond those doors were tons of people just waiting for some sort of scoop they could get their hands on. Just waiting for a moment worth capturing to sell and profit from, regardless of the person exploited.

 

Out there, the world was scary, and Oikawa’s security blanket had yet to text him back.

 

Calloused skin feathered across his right palm, the larger man intertwining their fingers slowly before completely encasing the setter's hand. A smile broke across the brunet's face before he could stop himself, matching Ushijima's own. With borrowed courage and the confidence of knowing that his feelings didn't sway from a few mean comments, he and his boyfriend opened the doors, walking out into flashing lights.

 

Probably cameras. But maybe fireworks.

  
  
  


**Kenma**

 

Smiling never seemed like something that Kenma would associate with pain, but his cheeks burned and his jaw ached because he just could not stop smiling. It wasn’t his usual soft smile, with crinkled eyes and light blush. His smiles were all teeth all day, the corners of his lips stretched and wider than ever before. It couldn’t be helped really.

 

Kenma and Shouyou were finally, _finally_ okay again—holding hands and blushing when caught staring at each other. _He loves me_ , the blond kept reminding himself, smitten all over again for the boy with carrot hair and a smile that gave meaning to his grey world. Just being able to walk next to him again sent Kenma's heart fluttering. How he spent two weeks away from the redhead, he didn't know. Being unable to just hold the smaller man against him was unbearable, not wanting to draw anymore attention to themselves like back at the cafe. As soon as they stepped onto the pavement, however, weaving through the city streets together, the very thought of still being allowed to hold his boyfriend's hand sent waves of euphoria coursing through his veins. _He still loves me._

 

It might be silly, but Kenma was genuinely worried that he had ruined any and all chances of reconciling with Shouyou, seeing as how he seemed to have pushed the younger man too far that time. Forcing such a large step in their relationship on Shouyou was all on Kenma, but somehow they made it through, and he had gotten the answers he’d been searching for.

 

They didn’t want to break up.

 

They still had to work on communicating their feelings to one another.

 

And when it came to taking the next steps in their relationship, they weren't there yet. But they were on their way to be.

 

Affirmation was never something that the bottle blond thought he needed, figuring that he was above the need to always be constantly reassured of his Shouyou’s affections for him. This fight had both destroyed a lot of walls that the couple hadn't realized existed and created a lot of walls they never knew they could build until it all went to shit. But now, they both wanted to build bridges to ensure that they never have another fight like this again.

 

_We’re still happy._

 

After they spent the rest of the morning going over what they each did for the past two weeks, amidst getting crepes and going to the outlet store, Kenma learned that perhaps there was still some mystery in the relationship he was so certain had grown stagnant. There were still small surprises and unfamiliarity that made their catching up feel as if Kenma had finally unlocked a whole new level to his boyfriend—beating his already high score. Fresh and new, like when they were in high school. The familiar fear of messing up was more prominent than ever for Kenma, but his eyes still crinkled and his smile never wavered. They didn’t need to be shoved in a more serious direction, all they needed was a gentle nudge.

 

All this had the bottle blond rethinking and questioning all their past talks, on what Kenma had done that made him miss this very different side to the Shouyou that might have been there all along. This Shouyou was still the same boy he knew, but this man was grown and confident and certain about Kenma. He didn’t want to seem desperate, jumping from huge fight to domestic bliss, but Shouyou made him happy. Happier than he’s been in two miserable weeks. And now, on solid ground and holding hands, Kenma smiled, because Shouyou was everything to him and he finally knew that he was everything to Shouyou.

 

_He still needs me_ , the gamer thought, _he still wants me._

 

In his musing, he must have missed some sort of joke because Shouyou began to laugh softly, nose scrunched and eyes shut.

 

_‘I missed your laugh the most,_ ’ is what Kenma wanted to tell Shouyou every time his boyfriend burst into giggles—a melody so pure and bright, so rich with joy that Kenma wanted to catch it in his palms and bottle it all up for himself. Such an easy reaction to get from Shouyou, but Kenma felt special whenever the ginger laughed quiet enough for only him to hear. That sound was what he had ended up longing for when they were apart.

 

What surprised Kenma as they caught up was how much he had ended up missing the redhead’s questions during their time away, too. Used to the endless inquiry about games, plans, schedules, and overall randomness, he would think that the two weeks apart would have been a nice breather for him. But no one else asked him anything. Kuroo never needed to ask Kenma anything, his mother-hen intuition giving him all the answers to whatever he might be wondering about the younger boy. The rest of his friends never bothered him either, figuring Kenma would just see it as a bother—which he would. But that wasn’t the case with Shouyou, whose natural curiosity and musing always filled up their conversations, and Kenma’s low voice always gave in to his childish wonder and verbatim words. Pleasing as his laugh, Kenma missed the voice that filled Kenma’s heart like music.

 

The younger man seemed naturally gifted at immediately lifting Kenma's spirits, letting the bottle blond soak up all of the sunshine in his grasp. All morning, Kenma kept wondering why he ever let himself doubt and falter where the couple was heading with their relationship.

 

Maybe he had just been a fool.

 

But if he was honest with himself, _really honest_ , it had been the fear that Shouyou would eventually grow tired of him if nothing changed soon. It was still there, that daunting worry. However, panic and embarrassment had made him miserable—what he had thought was shielding his heart had only made him suffer more. So he ignored that gnawing feeling at the back of his throat and pushed down the crippling anxiety and held onto the ginger's hand tighter.

 

_He still loves me._

 

That’s all that matters, he came to realize.

 

The sun was still high in the sky, mid-afternoon somehow sneaking up on the couple who lost track of time. Before Kenma could suggest where to grab some really late lunch, Shouyou said that they could order in pizza. Back at his place. The nerves tingled his spine again.

 

The last time they were both in Shouyou’s apartment was not the most pleasant memory for the older boy. Before he could mumble his concerns, however, Shouyou turned away, trying his best to hide a very surprising blush.

 

“Maybe...I don’t know, I can pack up some stuff. Ya’ know, to keep at your new place. If you want, but it’s okay if you don’t...” the boy almost _(almost)_ whispered. The shock registered slowly for Kenma, unsure if there was a rational reason for the sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

It felt almost out of place to see Shouyou so...unsure. As if he was trying to hide his own worries and fears of rejection behind his happy demeanor, like wearing a poker face but holding no cards in hand to play. He was gambling with no real assurance that Kenma wouldn’t recoil at the thought of going back to being where they started.

 

Kenma didn't answer immediately, at a loss of what it was he wanted exactly. Nothing would really be different if Shouyou did take a few items to Kenma's place, they'd both visit frequently and keep the keys to each other's apartment. It still wouldn't be _their_ home, but…

 

“Yes,” Kenma agreed. It wouldn’t be their home, but it would feel that way with Shouyou there within the too tall walls and too large rooms. With sweet laughter and bright smiles and warmth that he couldn’t live without, that would help fill up all the empty space that suffocated Kenma when he tried to fall asleep to silence. “Yes, I’d like that,” he clarified.  

 

Maybe it was the fact that Kenma had allowed Shouyou to settle back into his home so easily, or maybe the surprised expression on the ginger’s face was due to how quickly the bottle blond had allowed his boyfriend to occupy a new space that he wasn’t sure he was welcomed in given the past few weeks. All Kenma knew, however, was that he had felt like a stranger in his new apartment since he moved in, and the cold draft that seemed to be permanently rooted in the foundations of his place needed to disappear. He needed to let in some sunshine.

 

Making their way back to Shouyou's place, Kenma’s worries kept rising back up, wondering if it was a good idea to return to the same place that had been the stage of their almost break-up. _It’s fine_ , he reminded himself when they were just a block away from Hinata’s flat, _It’s okay, he loves me._

 

At the door, the bottle blond gave himself a few seconds to calm down (all the while, Shouyou rummaged through his pockets, excavating for his keys), reassuring himself that he’s been in the same apartment countless of times. He wasn’t a stranger to this place. When his boyfriend finally grabbed his keys, dusting off lint and crumbs from the dull metal, he quickly slid them into the lock and pushed into the threshold.

 

The genkan was still covered in unlaced sneakers and cute animal slippers that were poorly placed, almost like they were just kicked off. Kenma took his time removing his jacket, then bending down and unlacing his shoes, stalling himself from entering further into the apartment. Shouyou had already walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen, no doubt looking for a menu stuck on the fridge so they could order. The older boy lagged even more so, his eyes darting at the space as if it were foreign and new, intimidating with its eeriness.

 

Kenma's flight or fight response was buzzing, confusing him. It was as if by being away—by banishing himself—had made him more aware that he didn't know what was inside. That maybe there were still skeletons he didn’t know lying around. That there were things that he was unwelcomed to. It was almost like being a servant in a manor—you lived there, but it was not your home.

 

He felt like an intruder now.

 

And the apartment knew it too. The walls seemed as though they were laughing at the former setter when he padded his socked feet through his boyfriend’s hall. Mocking him. _We have eyes that see your faults and ears that hear your falls—we know secrets that make you unworthy,_ they said, the bumps and ridges that textured the walls written like braille.

 

The older boy felt as if he were at an impasse, unsure of which direction he should walk to—toward Shouyou or straight out the door. His hands itched for a cigarette, his vice comforting these past few weeks. But he had promised that he would quit, and now being back together with Shouyou gave him less need for the bad habit. Still he felt out of place. He regrets leaving his DS at home, wishing he could hide out in the hallway and forget where he was.

 

He knew he was just letting his nerves get the better of him. Knowing didn’t make them go away, though.

 

“I’m gonna head out now.”

 

The blond looked back from the walls to Shouyou, who was making his way past Kenma to the door. Kenma felt odd being back here, but he would feel really uncomfortable if he was alone.

 

“Wait, where are you going?” The blond asked, trying his best not to sound panicked.

 

“Imma go pick up the pizza,” the younger man explained, tying up his messy laces. “They said they weren’t making deliveries today because they're short staffed so I gotta’ go get it myself.”

 

“We can order from somewhere else,” Kenma tried to suggest.

 

"Nah, they have a special today and I know you like their sauce," his boyfriend reasoned. He quickly strode to Kenma and pecked his cheek before he grabbed his wallet and keys from the tray that laid on the table next to the door and turned back as he stepped out. "I'll be right back."

 

The door closed.

 

There was a heavy silence that drowned Kenma as he stood there in the hall. Unsure if he should venture into the apartment, the blond almost jumped when the door opened again suddenly, Shouyou’s head poking back inside.

 

“Can you do me a favor and look for a clean duffle bag that I can put some stuff in?” he asked Kenma, an embarrassed look on his face. “To bring back to your place,” he elaborated quietly. Not wanting Shouyou to sense his newfound discomfort (and mistake it for something else), Kenma nodded. Beaming, Shouyou repeated his goodbye, and closed the door behind him, leaving the blond once again in the silence of the apartment.

 

_Could someone drown without water?_ Kenma wondered. The heavy feeling that pressed onto his chest suggested that one indeed could. This place felt...eerie. Kenma wasn’t sure if there really was something different about the apartment, something that lurked about, ready to pounce on him. Something that had been living, growing within the walls like mold, all while Kenma, blinded by sweet delusional affection and cute company, had never taken the time to notice. Something that had been watching him.

 

The hairs on his arm rose as a tingle danced down the blond’s back, itching to leave this place. The sooner he found the duffle bag, the sooner Shouyou could pack after they ate. And the sooner he packed, they sooner they’d leave.  

 

Bunching up the sleeves of his sweater, the former setter padded his way from the looming hallway to Shouyou’s bedroom, figuring that was the best place to start his search. The main dilemma was finding a clean bag, the blond being hyper aware of how often Shouyou seemed to neglect cleaning his place.

 

Under the bed looked like a soot factory.

 

His dresser replicated the aftermath of that "Black Friday" shopping frenzy in the United States that Kuroo told him about once.

 

And his closet...Oh god, that closet was beyond dysfunctional. Kenma could barely see anything past the ridiculous amount of clothing his boyfriend had, most too large to fit him properly. The carpet inside the closet was full of stuffed backpacks filled with junk and old schoolwork that Shouyou had been too nostalgic to throw away. His main concern, however, was the top of the closet, a high shelf filled with boxes, old trophies, and memorabilia toppled on top of each other with a thick coat of dust. With Kenma’s luck, what he was looking for would end up being amongst that mess.

 

After finding a step ladder, the bottle blond started rummaging through the shelf, dropping trash and shifting cardboard around looking for a bag. Every five seconds, Kenma sneezed into his elbow from all the dirt that lifted, making him clumsy as he continued his search. He could hear the low sounds of Tokyo life outside the open window amongst the shuffling he was doing, along with the dim squeaking of the floorboards underneath him.

 

Wait. There. At the corner of his eyes, he saw a canvas strap stuck underneath a plastic box. Reaching for it, Kenma tried his best not to knock anything over as he gently pulled the strap closer to him, attached to an old duffel bag that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Just as he was about to loosen the bag free, the blond felt another tickle in the back of his throat, his nose scrunching in anticipation.

 

He let out a loud sneeze, dampening his sleeve with spit as he accidentally yanked the bag free, knocking over the plastic box that it was stuck underneath. The box fell to the ground with a loud thump as dozens of cassettes spilled over the carpet.

 

Kenma quickly stepped down, throwing the bag onto the bed as he dropped to his knees to gather all the scattered tapes. Piling them into his arms, Kenma carefully placed them back into the box when he finally noticed the writing on each of the cassette tapes, their blank labels marked with written dates. Kenma furrowed his brows in confusion, not sure what Shouyou would have tapes for.

 

At first glance, Kenma guessed they were recordings of old games from Shouyou’s volleyball days, but he knew that most of those games were available digitally. Plus, Shouyou didn’t have a video recorder. The blond picked up one of the tapes, turning it in his hands as he tried to figure out what they could be. He looked back into the box where the majority of the tapes were stuffed in. Digging through them, Kenma didn’t understand why Shouyou would have these tapes, stacked together and all dated, maybe hundreds of little cassette meticulously stored dating back years. Shouyou was never good at organizing and maintaining his belongings, but it was obvious he had put extra care into preserving these tapes.

 

Out in the hall, Kenma heard the answering machine ping from a new message.

 

It took a second for Kenma to finally realize what the tapes were—old recordings of Shouyou's answering machine. Why Shouyou seemed insistent on keeping his messages, Kenma had no clue. But, it wasn't his business, he supposed.

 

Mystery solved and bag found, Kenma resumed reorganizing the cassettes when something caught his eye. A scribbled on doodle of hearts drawn on a label of one of the tapes, dating back almost six and a half years ago, the summer that Shouyou had first moved to Tokyo for school. The tape looked older than most but not as dusty as some of the other ones. Shouyou must have listened to this particular tape recently. Kenma brought the tape closer as he noticed a small note underneath the date, written with a dark red marker.

 

>July 3 - Sept 24, 20XX<

_for when I’m missing him_

 

The blond’s eyes widen at the words, a warm blush soaking his cheeks. Shouyou had obviously not just kept the tapes out of laziness to throw them away, but to listen to whenever he needed to. Like when he was missing Kenma.

 

The smile that had disappeared the moment he walked into Shouyou's apartment two weeks ago had returned to the blond's boyish face, biting his bottom lip from giddiness. How adorable was Shouyou? How lucky was he to have someone like the amazing ginger to be his boyfriend? The walls seemed light again, like they had always felt whenever he visited this place. The paranoia that had clouded his brain had lifted, making him shake his head from how silly he had been, some hair coming loose from his hair tie on the back of his neck. How foolish.

 

During their weeks apart, Shouyou must have yearned to hear some semblance of his boyfriend, finding comfort in these tapes.

 

He was such a sap sometimes.

 

Kenma sifted through the box, looking for tapes that had other small notes written underneath them, moving the ones that just had dates. He grabbed one that read, _messages from when I was sick with chickenpox_ , remembering how whiny and needy Shouyou had been knowing that he was too contagious to leave his dorm during his sophomore year (and Kenma couldn’t take care of him since he had never dealt with the virus, so he sent Kuroo to go tend to his boyfriend, only for Kuroo to end up getting infected). He grabbed more tapes, ones like ‘ _while away to Guam_ ’ from three years ago and ‘ _when my roommate STILL WON’T LET ME SLEEP_ ’ from when Shouyou first moved out of the dorms. He also grabbed ‘ _when homesick_ ’ (expecting to hear messages from Shouyou’s mom and even Natsu), ‘ _drunk missed calls_ ’ (Kenma already dreading the sorts of messages he might have left Shouyou while inebriated, knowing that he wasn’t the classiest drunk), and _‘away in Okinawa’_ (where his boyfriend had done his first boot camp for the TFD). With full hands, Kenma carried the tapes back to the hall where the answering machine waited.

 

Kenma took out the first tape he had chosen, the ‘ _for when I’m missing him_ ,’ curious about the messages Shouyou had saved from Kenma. Especially since the tape dated a few months before the two had officially started to date. The blond took out the current cassette tape and placed it on the side while inserting the old one, wondering what lame cringy message from his past he’s about to listen to. He eagerly pressed the play button.

 

**BEEP —FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

_“Hey dumbass, it’s me.”_

 

That...was not Kenma. The blond scrunched his brows as he listened.

 

_“I guess you aren’t home...even though you said you would be...Anyways, I just got out of practice and it’s, well, still weird. Kinda. It’s just, um, I don’t know. Everyone is good and even the coach wants me in most games but...my tosses feel different.”_

 

_Kageyama_. Why was Kageyama talking?

 

_“Maybe I still need to adjust to the team. Bokuto-san is a lot to manage. But at least I’m not stuck on the same team as Oikawa-san, like you,” he laughed, “Imma need some time to get used to it, I guess. But...we should meet up, maybe toss around for a bit.”_

 

Why was Kageyama on this tape?

 

_“Um...I miss you_ _—_ _hanging, I mean. Shit, I miss_ **_hanging out_ ** _with you, is what I wanted to say. So, yeah. Just, just call me back. Okay. Bye.”_

 

Kenma tilted his head to the side, unsure what _that_ was. Figuring it must have slipped past Shouyou when he saved the tape, Kenma shook off the weird feeling and listened as the recording continued.

 

**BEEP —NEXT MESSAGE—**

 

_“Hey, dumbass. Me again,”_ said not Kenma.

 

The hell was this? Why was Kageyama _still_ on this tape?

 

_“I heard you guys won today. Yachi told me. Who heard from Yamaguchi. Who went to watch Tsukishima. Who apparently played more than you...which might explain why you guys won,” he snorted, “But I guess you’re out celebrating. You should answer your cell, at least. Oh hey, this weekend I’m actually free to go and wat—”_

 

Kenma had enough, had heard enough of that. He slammed his finger on the fast forward button, unsure what this achy feeling in his stomach was. But the more he listened to Kageyama the worst it got. He finally lifted his finger, hoping to hear his own younger self from the machine.

 

_“Did Oikawa or Ushijima say anything to you about yesterday? I ran into them and Bokuto-san downtown when I was getting off my train and today in practice, Bokuto-san tried to convince me that I didn’t see them. But I swear I did! They were all coming out fro—”_

 

Kenma slammed his finger on the fast forward button again.

 

_“I found this weird spot on my shoulder the other day when I went swimming. Matsukawa-san said I might have cancer. I made an appo—”_

 

The whirring noise from the tape fast forwarding filled the room, Kenma’s breathing picking up just as fast before he let go once again.  

 

_“I think I’m about to fail my test. I’m serious. Even Akaashi-san didn’t look confident after he let me join his study group. Fuck, I can’t fail. If I fail, I’m off the team, and if that happens I’m going to jump off of skytree—”_

 

Why the fuck was Kageyama still on this tape? He punched the button again and again until the tape had ended, almost breaking the machine as the blond took out the tape and replaced it with another, hoping that this whole thing was a mistake.

 

**BEEP—FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

_“Why aren’t you answering your calls, dumbass?”_

 

Was this a fucking joke?

 

_“Oh, shit. Wait, you’re on vacation...aren’t you? My bad, I seriously thought it was next week. Tch...I ju—I just really wanted to talk to you...I kinda had a shitty week—”_

 

This isn’t funny.

 

Fast forward.

 

_“And, and then my fucking dad wouldn’t stop yelling! Like it was my fault! I had to get out of there, I seriously thought I was going to hit something if I di—”_

 

This can’t be happening.

 

Fast forward.

 

_“Hey, sorry about ranting to you last night. Or to your machine I guess. Probably took up a lot of space...I just got really heated and yeah. You don’t have to—”_

 

Oh no.

 

Fast forward.

 

_“I forgot you still weren’t back yet...when do you get back?”_

 

The walls were laughing at him again.

 

Fast forward.

 

**BEEP—END OF MESSAGES.**

 

He ripped out the tape and put in the third. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Each filled with messages. Each one, every single one of them not belonging to Kenma.

 

He ran back to the room and grabbed a handful more tapes, all with only a date written on them. Kenma had hoped that these would be different. That these carried men and women and coworkers and friends and other voices that would stop Kenma from breathing so fast. Stop him from feeling like the walls were getting closer and closer with each new message that he heard.

 

Play.

 

**BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

_“Hey dumbass—”_

 

Kenma didn’t even let the rest of the tape play as he opened the machine and loaded a new one in. He pressed down hard.

 

Play.

 

**BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

_“Hinata, you fucking idiot! Answer your godda—”_

 

Kenma quickly yanked out the tape, loading another one in.

 

Play.

 

**BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

_“Hey, you forgot your credit card dumba—”_

 

The blond just kept switching tapes, the stinging in his eyes making it harder and harder to see where the play button was. Oh, wait, there it is.

 

Play.

 

**BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

_“Oi, dumbass. You never told me if you wanted to come with me back home. Because if you are, then what time should we catch the train because my practice ends at—”_

 

Kenma ripped open the machine, yanking out the cassette before throwing it across the hall, hoping to stop the laughter.

 

The blond was completely lost, tears running down his face, unsure of what to do as the tape fell on the floor.

 

He was not prepared for this. Was not warned about this other threat to his life. Was it always there? Was he just blind to it? He had never thought to even worry about this other boy. Kenma worried about long days, and short tempers, and getting on each other’s nerves when it came to Shouyou. But the question remained: did he have to worry about Kageyama too?

 

_Fool_ , the walls chuckled between creaks and moans, _you foolish boy_.

 

What a fool he was, indeed. To think they were okay again...were they ever okay?

 

Was there ever a time that Kenma wasn’t being played? A time that these tapes weren’t being listened to while Kenma slept within the same walls in ignorant bliss? Was there ever a time when Shouyou only saw Kenma? Only needed Kenma? Only loved _—_

 

_Foolish boy._

 

Well...this certainly explained a few things.

 

Like why Kenma still lived alone in a too tall, too large apartment by himself.

 

Or how Kenma could never get rid of the feeling that he loved Shouyou more than the redhead loved him.

 

What now? What should he do now, Kenma wondered. What _can_ he do now? Would there be any point? Tears fell down his cheeks, his heart fell out of his chest, his world fell apart.

 

Defeated, and at loss of what to do, Kenma walked slowly to the discarded tape, picked it up and along with all the other ones he had played, gathered them back in his arms. The blond made no noise as he walked back to his boyfriend’s room, reorganizing the tapes to how they were arranged before Kenma’s meddling. Before the box fell, along with Kenma’s hopes.

 

He felt sluggish as he lifted the box over his head and shifted it back onto the shelf, sliding the closet door closed. His head hung on his shoulder as he grabbed the duffle bag and brought it out to the hall.

 

In the short walk from the room, Kenma had already drawn out a plan. A simple, repetitive plan.

 

He would leave.

 

He would leave and go home. He would wallow and let the heartache consume him again. Let his sanity and health go to shit because who gave a shit.

 

It felt like deja vu from their last fight. He was running away again.

 

So what? He was hurt. This place had hurt him again. Reality had hurt him again.

 

Shouyou had hurt him. _Again_.

 

They didn’t even have to get in an argument this time. There would be no point in talking it out, because this time, Kenma knew that there would be no other explanation for those tapes. Nothing Shouyou could say that would change the truth, and truth of the matter was that Kenma might have been second best all along.

 

And it hurt, this pain...it was unbearable. Unspeakable. Unfixable.

 

And he was angry— _rightly so_.

 

_Six years_ , he thought, _if six years wasn’t enough for him to choose me...only me..._

 

This wasn't fair to him, and he couldn’t stay.

 

He dropped the bag on the floor, intending on leaving it there for Shouyou to find, along with Kenma gone. _For good._

 

Water crept from his nostrils in rivers that bent and merged with the rest of his tears. The last tears he would shed in this place. This home that was a stranger to him now, these walls that had listened to a different voice at night, a voice that did not belong to the blond. Along with a heart that never belonged to him, it would seem.

 

_Fight for him_ , a voice—quiet but fierce—screamed inside his head, urging him not to seek an end to this second chance, this chance for the only love that had ever seemed possible.

 

But Kenma knew his limits. And he wasn’t about to fight for something already lost.

 

The blond turned for the door but stopped when he noticed something still out of place. A tape, one that was already in the machine before Kenma had taken it out to listen to the others. He wiped his cheeks down before he grabbed the tape, slotting it back into the machine. Then, when the machine registered the tape, a red dot lit up, recognizing one unheard message from earlier. Kenma stared at the dot, wondering if he should listen to it, wondering if hearing a message from anybody else that wasn't Kageyama would calm him down before he left.

 

His finger found the play button, pressing down slowly.

 

**BEEP— FIRST MESSAGE—**

 

_“Hey, it’s me.”_

 

Kenma's eyes narrowed.

 

_“Um...I’m just answering the message you left me earlier. You sounded nervous.”_

 

He heard enough. Had heard enough of Kageyama's voice for a lifetime. But...it wasn't the other boy’s fault, was it?

 

Maybe he was being bitter, blinded by the truth of his boyfriend to see Kageyama as an innocent bystander. The awkward ravenhead had always been nothing but polite to him, quiet but never rude. They had just never clicked but the setters never minded each other’s company. It was easy to want to hate the other boy, jealous feeling foreign in Kenma’s blood. Kageyama wasn’t to blame for Shouyou’s split feelings. And neither was Kenma. So he would leave—

 

_“Even though you really shouldn’t be. Kenma will forgive you...I’m sure he will.”_

 

He let out a small gasp, unsure if he heard that right. Was Kageyama really giving Shouyou advice...about Kenma? Guilt also felt foreign in the blond, a terrible feeling filling up his head at the thought of being mad at the other setter. He wasn't to blame.

 

_“But—”_

 

...but?

 

_“If...if it does turn out bad...maybe it’s for the best. Well, not best, but, better this way.”_

 

Kenma’s heart stopped. His skin felt cold. Better? Better for who?

 

Certainly not him.

 

Certainly not Shouyou.

 

_“Maybe you guys...I don’t know, should maybe, break up. It might save you from these sorts of fights later on...”_

 

Kenma had held his breath at the words. _Break up_. Thirty seconds ago, that might have been Kenma’s intentions. But not out of hate or want. He had just figured it would hurt less in the long run. It would soften the blow that would inevitably come. When Shouyou would choose Kageyama over him. But would that be better?

 

Would that be for the best?

 

_“You know, for good. I just, I don’t like seeing you so miserable, dumbass.”_

 

No. It wasn’t.

 

_“Maybe something even better could come after this.”_

 

Kenma was best for Shouyou. _He_ was. No one else.

 

_“But...whatever happens...I’m here for you, Shou.”_

 

And certainly not Kageyama.

 

_“Okay. Let me know if you need to talk...to me, or to Hana-san. Bye.”_

 

**BEEP — END OF MESSAGE. TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE, PRESS 1. TO SAVE, PRESS 2. TO REPEAT MESSAGE, PR —**

 

**BEEP — MESSAGE DELETED. INBOX EMPTY.**

  
  


Shouyou returned to his place with his hands full, a large box of pepperoni pizza with extra cheese (Kenma's favorite) and a six-pack of soda. He struggled to open the door but when he did, he yelled that he had delivered the pizza in perfect condition like the shining knight he was.

 

And Kenma smiled from the hall. Unfortunately the tears hadn’t stopped in time. Shouyou caught sight of his boyfriend, water works running down his cheeks and a forced smile on his lips facing the ginger boy.

 

The ginger dropped the pizza. Apparently, his face hadn't been convincing enough.

 

“Kenma,” he cried, running to his boyfriend with his shoes half off, reaching around the blond locks to look at his face properly. The blond felt his heavy heart ease up with the concern on Shouyou’s face, so genuine looking. “Kenma, what happened?”

 

What should he say?

 

_I found your tapes that you keep of your unrequited love._

 

It was the truth...but it didn’t feel right on the tip of his tongue. It rubbed him raw like sand paper. Would saying it hurt Shouyou as much as it hurt Kenma to find?

 

Did he want to hurt Shouyou?

 

“Kenma, please, tell me what’s wrong,” Shouyou pleaded, holding Kenma’s forehead to his own. Their eyes reflected one another’s, bright sunset orange against tear ridden topaz.

 

He could never dream of not wanting to fight for someone who looked at him like that.

 

“I just,” he whispered, sniffling as he tried to get the words out, “Just being here. Alone. I felt,” he paused, calming his breathing so his voice wouldn't break, “Overwhelmed is all.”

 

It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t like being here alone. The skeletons had come out when Shouyou left.

 

“Oh shit,” Shouyou whispered back, “Oh, fuck! Kenma! Kenma, I’m sorry,” he pleaded, seeming to understand why his boyfriend would feel uncomfortable being back at his place all by himself. “Kenma, I’m so sorry!”

 

The ginger boy hugged him, shoving his nose into the blond's neck repeating his apologies. Kenma, all the while, rested his head onto Shouyou, basking in the feeling of being wrapped in his arms before he ended it all, while he still could embrace this boy. This boy who made him feel so safe and wanted and _—loved_?

 

Was he really willing to lose this?

 

“Shouyou.”

 

The ginger lifted his head, trying to look Kenma in the eyes, unsure of what more he could do to make his boyfriend stop crying.

 

“Yeah?”

 

The blond held his gaze, a quiver running through his chin as he tried not to sob. There was so much he should say, was supposed to say, planned to say...but he hesitated. He wouldn't be able to take the words back. But they had to be said.

 

**_I think we should break up._ **

 

_How could you do this to me!?_

 

**_I love you, but I can’t deal with you leaving me for someone else._ **

 

_Six years, Shouyou! Why didn’t you say anything? Why did I have to find out this way?_

 

**_I know that you have feelings for someone else too. For Kageyama._ **

 

_I deserve better than this! Who does this to someone they love?!_

 

**_I don’t want to keep you from what you want._ **

 

_I was your dormant and you lied to me, the whole time!_

 

**_I deserve better...and you deserve to be happy._ **

 

_I deserve someone who’s going to put me first. Love me, not just settle for me..._

**_But..._ **

_...was...was all we shared, all these years, pointless?_

 

_The smiles, the bushes, the glances...everything. Did they not feel special to you too?_

 

_Wasn’t I special to you?_

 

_Enough for you?_

 

_Like you were to me..._

 

**_I don’t want to lose you._ **

 

“Kenma?” Shouyou asked when the blond stayed silent.

 

What could he say?

 

**_I can’t lose you._ **

 

“Shouyou...”

 

In the end, he said the truth. His truth. What he’s always known.

 

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Kenma whispered, his breath fanning the younger man’s lips, “Yo—You’re the best thing in my life.”

 

More than just truth. A promise hidden with each breath. A vow.

 

**_I won’t lose you._ **

 

Shouyou blinked at his words, seemingly caught off guard by Kenma’s forwardness. But they weren’t just words. Kenma knew he would do anything to prove to Shouyou that he meant them. That he would do anything to make sure Shouyou never doubted the love that Kenma had for him. That only Kenma could give.

 

And Shouyou smiled. And Kenma hoped that he had understood.

 

“I love you too.”

 

_He still loves me._

 

And Kenma kissed him, like Shouyou was air itself, the only thing sustaining Kenma from drowning further into a life of loneliness. This kiss, this man, this love was worth fighting for.

 

He would not lose to a box full of plastic. He would not lose to a boy who had lost his chance a long time ago.

 

_Fight for him_ , a scream rang in his ears, _fight, you fool._

 

**Kiyoko**

 

Friday nights were always busy at the _Midori Grotto_ , a trendy new lounge that had opened up near the outskirts of the Ginza. Patrons were lucky if they were able to get in, let alone a table, but the raven-haired beauty happened to have an in with one of the managers, an old colleague from her Uni days. She walked in just before sunset and scored three seats at the bar, fairly close to the restrooms, and attempted to order herself a drink before her friends arrived. But before she could call over one the bartender, a drink had been placed in front of her.

 

A dry martini with top shelf spirits, if she had to guess. She looked up to the bartender, her glasses sitting low on her nose and her brow high as she gave the man an inquisitive look. He smiled, tilting his head to the right side of the room.

 

“From the gentleman down the bar, miss.”

 

Shimizu Kiyoko looked at said direction as the bartender walked away, her face passive as she locked eyes with a run-of-the-mill suit who sent a slimy grin her way. He raised his own drink, something on the rocks, and tilted his head in greeting to her.

 

The ravenhead held back a groan, politely grabbing her gifted drink to return the gesture, shallow and ingenuine. Before she could raise it in his direction, however, her drink was snatched out of her hand by the grace of God.

 

Or, more accurately, by Shirofuku Yukie.

 

"Is this for me?" the redhead asked just as she took a sip, unconcerned if the drink belonged to her or not, it would seem. The girl then shook her head, her auburn hair dancing around the sour face she gave the drink. Kiyoko already felt more at ease with her friend finally here.

 

“ _Blech_ ,” Yukie groaned, “too fucking dry. Why’d you order this?”

 

“I didn’t,” Kiyoko mused, failing to hold back a smirk at her friend’s foolhardy nature. She rested her chin on her right hand and tried not to giggle as Yukie rolled her eyes at the implication, drowning the rest of the drink in one gulp regardless of her dislike. “It might be drugged,” the ravenhead teased.

 

"Whatever," the redhead grumbled, "I had a shit day." She took the seat to Kiyoko's right, dropping her bag at the foot of her chair as she waved her arm frantically, trying to hail the bartender as if she were getting a taxi. The raven haired woman took the moment to look over her shoulder, noticing that the gentleman who had sent her the drink looked irritated at her indiscreet dismissal of him. Luckily, he had locked eyes on another prey, a longhaired girl in a booth, making his way over to her with two drinks in hand.

 

She sighed in relief, turning back to her friend as one of the male bartenders walked over to them, a sultry grin on his handsome face.

 

“Ladies,” he cooed, making Yukie smile like a fox and Kiyoko try her best not to roll her eyes, “what can I get you two beauties this evening?”

 

“We’ll have two glasses of the 2012 Clos Fourtet to start, please,” Kiyoko said, holding her debit card between her pointer and middle fingers, eager for the man to hurry and serve them and leave. “Open tab.”

 

The bartender nodded at her request before he quickly grabbed her card, walking off to the side to get them their drinks. Yukie, turned to the ravenhead, smile still sharp with a teasing flare.

 

“I don’t know what you just ordered us,” the redhead mused, twisting a strand of her auburn hair between her fingers, “but it sounded kinda snobby.” The ravenhead just kept her grin, shrugging her shoulder as she pulled out her cell, a new text blinking on her screen.

 

“You wanted something else?” Kiyoko asked, opening her messages.

 

“I was just gonna order some Sapporo, honestly,” Yukie murmured, curious to what Kiyoko was looking at.  

 

“Mai says she’s running a little late, but she’ll be here soon,” Kiyoko informed the other woman, turning off her screen. Yukie hummed, understanding. Their glasses were placed in front of them on coasters, the bartender leaving them with a flirtatious smirk as he walked to another customer. Yukie took the first sip, smacking her lips at the aftertaste.

 

“Taste expensive,” she commented, taking another generous sip. Kiyoko took a small sip of her own glass, side-eying her friend from the rim before putting it back down, the warmth smoothly traveling down her throat.

 

“Well, it is my treat tonight. And you did say that you had a shitty day,” she said, making the redhead smile at the words. Yukie’s white teeth looked wicked against the now red tint that stained her lips.

 

“You know what, you’re right,” Yukie agreed gleefully, “I totally deserve to be wined and dined.” Kiyoko then raised her glass to the redhead, a playful glint shining across her smokey eyes.

 

“To girl’s night,” she toasted. Yukie followed suit, raising her own glass before clicking it to Kiyoko’s.

 

“To motherfuckin’ girl’s night!!!” she gleamed, downing the rest of the red in one go, slamming it down with little to no finesse to hail the bartender for another.

 

They ordered their third glass fifteen minutes later.

 

Kiyoko and Yukie waited around half hour, third glasses of wine almost empty before Nametsu Mai made her way past a few patrons to the two ladies over at the bar. Mai slung her work tote next to the empty seat, breathing heavily as she sat down on Kiyoko's left and gladly accepted the wine glass offered to her by the raven haired woman. The light haired brunette downed her glass swiftly, licking her lips after she emptied it. Both Kiyoko and Yukie raised their brows at her eager drinking.

 

"Tough day at the office?" Yukie asked, sipping her wine with pink cheeks and a reckless grin. Mai sighed at the question, exasperation heavy on her shoulder from the looks of it. Kiyoko leaned back on her chair as she rested her glass in her hand, ready for the start of some serious venting from her friends. After all, what's girl's night for if not a great excuse for some serious gossiping and bitching about their lives?

 

“My boss is such an _ass_ ,” Mai moaned, accepting another glass that was placed in front of her by the over eager bartender that had been keeping their glasses full. “He said that I can assist with the new building modifications. _Assist._ He’s basically telling me to work under some moron whose designs were approved because the client would rather have a _man_ design their new building than an actually good architect,” she said, bitterness emanating from the woman as Kiyoko nodded her head in understanding. The raven had been through similar hiccups throughout her career. She rose up the ranks from an intern at an investment firm to a full blown analyst at a hedge fund. Then, after feeling stuck for some years, she had finally earned the proper recognition and earned her most recent promotion to a management position. She’ll now have to deal with micromanaging incompetent workers who only had their jobs thanks to favoritism and be privileged to actually guiding talented people into taking more responsibility and risk. The ravenhead was sharp, ready for the new role she was taking at the company. The girls in front of her didn’t know about her promotion, but it didn’t feel like news she should share just yet.

 

Mai’s ponytail shimmied against her shoulder as she shook her head, a deprecating smile gracing the younger girl’s face.

 

“Everyone there just sees me as some little girl who can’t be taken seriously.”

 

“Dude, _same_ ," Yukie droned, shifting her upper body to face both girls fully as she placed her elbow on the bar top. "Do you know how annoying it is to still just be managing at the catering company. I should be in charge of the menu, not the stupid schedules."

 

“I thought you were thinking about starting your own?” Kiyoko asked, unsure of what was keeping Yukie at that miserable place.

 

"I want to, but I don't even know where to start. Plus, I would need to build a client list and a tasting menu. I need to build references before I could even call anything certain. Not sure if now's a good time, you know," Yukie said flatly, swirling her wine in the glass, watching the drink circle. She turned to the ravenhead in between them. "How about you, Kiyoko? You gonna tell your boss to fuck himself if he doesn't give you the promotion?"

 

Now would be appropriate to share her good news, but the ravenhead didn’t quite think it was the most ideal time. Not when her friends were rightfully complaining about their frustrating positions of their own.

 

“No point,” the ravenhead shrugged nonchalantly, hoping that their curiosity would be satisfied.

 

“Hmm, you gonna try next quarter?” Mai asked, getting more comfortable in her seat. Kiyoko wasn’t sure if she should share her news with her friends tonight, seeing as how her predicament seemed to have already solved itself. Her already rosy cheeks turned a shade darker.

 

"No...I got the promotion." Yukie and Mai immediately turned their heads, wide eyes facing the dark-haired woman. Kiyoko didn't want to bring it up tonight for a reason. What if they thought she was boasting to them, bragging about her luck while they resented her? Then who would she talk to?

 

As irrational as it was, Kiyoko didn't have many close girlfriends growing up, so she tried to always be careful about not stepping on their toes and tried not to upset any female companion. At first, she thought that maybe she came off as aloof or intimidating while she was in her adolescence, but then she came to realize that girls were either too shy to talk to her, or they just didn't like her.

 

It was only in her last year of high school that she really started to open up and get to know other girls, the Karasuno volleyball club being an important part of her life that finally got her out of her shell. She had made lifelong friends there, especially amongst the other female managers. Especially—

 

“Congrats, Kiyoko!” Yukie cheered, heavily patting the raven haired woman on the shoulder as she grinned from ear to ear, “That’s my girl! Moving on up in the corporate world, kicking ass and taking names!”

 

“That’s right!” Mai followed, “Showing _the man_ that us ladies are to be trifled with!” Then the light haired girl looked at Kiyoko with a worried expression. “Wait. Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” she asked. Kiyoko tried not to squirm from being in between their sharp eyes.

 

“I didn’t want to annoy you guys,” she softly spoke, “especially on girls night.” Without missing a beat, Yukie chortled at her response, covering her mouth with her knuckles trying to keep the noise down. She failed.

 

“You idiot! Of course we’re annoyed,” she laughed, “mostly because your good luck still hasn’t rubbed off and given me and Mai a break. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna hold that against you.”

 

“Seriously, Kiyo,” Mai said, shaking her head like a disapproving mother, “we’re not petty. Of course we’d still be happy for you, no matter what. Have more faith in us, why don’t cha’.”

 

Relief washed over the dark haired girl. She brought her glass to her lips.

 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “I’m still overwhelmed, so do you guys think we could talk about something else?”

 

“You mean talk about the fact that I’m boning the new chef,” Yukie smirked wildly, “yeah, let’s talk about that.” Kiyoko tried to hold her eyes back from widening to comical proportions. She failed. As did Mai.

 

“WHAT?! Seriously? You finally convinced him to actually date you?” Mai asked eagerly.

 

“Well, no,” Yukie huffed into her drink, sipping before she continued, “We’re just...hmm, how should I say? Um, _hanging out,_ I guess.”

 

"Hanging out?" Kiyoko asked, deadpanned expression doing nothing to hide her distaste. "What does _hanging out_ even mean?”

 

“You know. Like, _hanging...out_.”

 

“That doesn’t explain anything at all, Yukie,” Mai said, just as confused as before, “Does that mean you guys are dating, or keeping casual...or what?”

 

“It means, we’re just...” Yukie started, but instead of saying anything else, she just shrugged, her shoulders lifted high to her ears. Smokey grey eyes stared at the redhead, Kiyoko trying her best not to tell her friend, for lack of the proper words, that her new situation with this apparently attractive (fine ass piece of prime-A Australian meat, according to Yukie’s past description) chef was _stupid_.

 

“Well, that’s stupid,” Mai said, reading the ravenhead’s mind and ripping the band-aid off.

 

“I agree with Mai.”

 

“Well, that’s what was decided,” Yukie harrumphed, tilting her chin up to her friends. Kiyoko watched Mai shake her head as she warned the redhead to be careful. Careful of what, Kiyoko wasn’t sure. Careful of getting hurt, probably. Or maybe careful not to hurt someone else. Careful not to ruin everything.

 

_I ruined everything._

 

“Kiyoko?” Yukie asked, tapping the dark haired girl’s shoulder, “you okay? You kinda spaced out there for a sec.”

 

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I didn't realize it," the ravenhead assured. The redhead nodded before turning to Mai. "What about you? How are them omais going, hah? Your mom still getting on your case?"

 

“ _Ugh_ , please don’t remind me,” the light-haired girl moaned.

 

"Nothing promising yet?" Kiyoko inquired, genuinely interested in Mai's husband-to-be hunting.

 

“Nothing worth even mentioning,” Mai murmured. Kiyoko, however, didn’t miss the sour note of Mai’s voice, who was obviously more upset about her lack of progress than she was letting on. But that wasn’t any of her business, she supposed. She will not pry, and hopefully neither wi—

 

“So, what you’re really saying is that you’re _still_ not over your irritating high school sweetheart?" the redhead asked, sipping her drink casually. Yukie then squeaked when Kiyoko pinched the redhead's thigh harshly, squinting her eyes in annoyance. She quickly turned to Mai, whose ears were bright red.

 

“She didn’t mean to ask that—”

 

"No it's okay," Mai mumbled, taking a few seconds to collect her thought. The silence felt awkward, a sad tint fading down on the group. The younger girl pouted, sipping the last of her drink before she waved to the bartender, who started walking briskly towards them. "Kenji was pretty fucking annoying sometimes."

 

“Ladies. Another glass?” the bartender asked, smile perfectly in place.

 

“More like some hard liquor, good looking,” Yukie corrected, “we’ll have some shots.” She turned to the other two girls who looked very unamused and uninterested. But knowing Yukie, they would drink the shots regardless. Kiyoko gave Yukie a pointed look, though. The redhead groaned lowly before she turned back to the bartender before he left. “And three french 75, if you will please.”

 

The two eldest girls then turned to the youngest, the brunette sliding her finger around the rim of her now empty glass, a faraway look in her eyes. A look that the ravenhead had worn herself day in and day out since she was seventeen. Since that time of her life. Since— _No_ , she told herself, _this moment isn't about you right now. Focus._ She turned back to Mai, and hesitantly placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, awkward but seemingly welcomed. The redhead cleared her throat.

 

“Why not just follow your gut and go after him?” Yukie asked. Crass and far too invasive, but she meant well, her tone telling no other agenda than to comfort Mai. Kiyoko nodded, continuing to softly rub circles on the girl’s arm.

 

“Right. So I should just drop my entire life here and follow him back to Sendai,” Mai hissed, pushing her glass away with more force than necessary, “As if I’m the one who should give up my place, my job, my friends willingly for him. I’m the one who has to sacrifice everything.”

 

“That’s not what we're saying,” Kiyoko said, trying not to make her angry.

 

"I know, but that's what I'd have to do," the light-haired girl said, "That's what he wanted me to do. Like his dreams and wants were more important than mine...more important than _me_.”

 

"Did he actually say that?" the ravenhead asked, genuinely unsure. She had known Futakuchi Kenji back in high school and, though he was kind of an ass, he didn't seem like someone to say things to truly hurt someone else. Especially not someone he was romantically involved with for over half a decade. Even when the couple attended Kiyoko's university together, the younger girl seemed to have the boy wrapped around her finger. He always seemed gentle with Mai. It was hard for Kiyoko to imagine him giving the girl that sort of ultimatum.

 

“He didn’t have to say it. Him deciding to take that job and leaving said enough,” Mai said, her head now hanging lower than when she first sat down, “He didn’t even ask me before he accepted. He just...didn’t care, I guess.”

 

“At the pharm company?” Yukie asked. Mai nodded. “So...he can, like, hook us up?”

 

_“Yukie,”_ Kiyoko warned, her voice low and she gave the redhead a hard look, Yukie putting her hands up defensively. The ravenhead turned back to the youngest.

 

"Don't you think a lot of this might just be miscommunication from both your parts, Mai? How do you know what he wanted from you?"

 

“It doesn’t matter,” the brunette dismissed, looking away from the older girl, “It was months ago, anyways. Plus, neither one of us would have been happy giving up our jobs for one another. I wouldn’t be happy just being his housewife.”

 

“You don’t seem happy either way, though,” Yukie countered. Kiyoko was about to reprimand her, again, but then took the words to heart and hummed. Turning back to Mai, she gave a defeated look.

 

“She does have a point.” The light haired girl just huffed, her eyes lighting up when the bartender returned with their drinks. The youngest reached for one of the shot glasses, downing it before the other girls had a chance to touch their glasses.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, a sour turn of her lips gracing her face before she shook her head to rid herself of the aftertaste, “It’s done. The next guy I date...will be it.”

 

“If that's what you want.”

 

“Well, if we’re asking what I want,” Mai muttered, taking a sip of her cocktail before turning on her stool and facing the ravenhead fully, “I want to know if this mystery person of yours has replied back to you.”

 

“Ooh, yeah,” Yukie lit up, “Nice change of subject, Mai. I wanna know too.”

 

“There’s nothing to know,” Kiyoko said, looking down at her hands she hadn't noticed were wringing together on top of her lap, “No reply.”

 

“Still?” Yukie all but groaned, “When is this person gonna get a fucking clue?”

 

"I don't usually go along with Yukie's choice of words, but I actually agree," Mai nodded, looking at Kiyoko fully. The raven haired girl didn't know what more she could say. Nothing had changed. She had sent her email almost two months ago and still hasn’t gotten a reply to her confession. Not even a rejection. Nothing. Plus it didn't really matter in the first place, it wouldn't change anything—

 

"What do you mean it wouldn't change anything? Change what?" Mai asked. Kiyoko looked up quickly, flustered that she had been thinking out loud. How odd.

 

She shouldn’t say anything. Right? It would only make things messier the more people who know, right? It’s not like it would change any facts. Wouldn’t change the villainy in Kiyoko’s desires. But...being the one who is suffering alone hasn’t been easy for the dark haired girl. And maybe, if they knew what she did, maybe they wouldn't pester her about it as much. Hopefully.

 

“They’re in a relationship.”

 

“Who is?” Mai asked, totally confused now.

            

“The person I confessed to. They’re in a serious relationship.”

 

Silence. Ugly silence surrounded them after those words. Unsure of what to do with her hands, Kiyoko grabbed her shot and gently swallowed it whole, kissing her teeth as she placed it back on the bartop and reached for her cocktail, washing away the taste of hard liquor. Yukie followed suit, hissing after she took her shot. Mai was restless on her seat. Kiyoko figured that she was trying to change the subject again. Before she could say anything, though, the younger woman's phone rang loudly from her purse. Mai cursed, digging through her bag until she pulled out a sleek smartphone, sliding along the screen before she brought it to her ear.

 

"Hello, Nametsu speaking," Mai said, nodding every few seconds as she just replied in _yes sir_ s and _no sir_ s. Her face gradually fell and Kiyoko had easily realized that she must have been talking to her ass of a boss. Yukie giggled as Mai made a disgruntled face, pouting into the phone as she bid her goodbyes. "Of course, sir. I'll get it done. Goodnight."

 

She quickly hung up the phone and let out a long sigh. An apologetic smile rested on her chin and Kiyoko knew that she had to go.

 

“I have to go back to the office. I’m really sorry, guys,” she said, confirming the ravenhead’s thoughts.  Kiyoko told her that it was fine, that they understood how important her project was. She hugged the light haired girl, squeezing more than she normally would. Mai then scooted to Yukie, who almost spilled her drink as she hugged the poor girl tightly.

 

“You better have a boyfriend before the next girl’s night, okay?” Yukie demanded.

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Mai half-assured, rolling her eyes as she slipped out of the ginger's arms. She quickly grabbed her bags and waved as she pushed her way back out of the establishment. The two elder girls sat on their stools and watched her steer through to the exit, like a sailboat reaching the horizon.

 

“Do you remember,” Yukie said, breaking the silence as Kiyoko turned back to her right, giving Yukie all of her attention, “how huge our girl’s night used to be? Back in college.”

 

Kiyoko smiled, knowing exactly how large their outings used to be before. Before jobs, and boyfriends, then husbands and babies. Before their life seemed like something still waiting for them in their future and not something they were settled in. Unsure of how the future quickly became their present, their right now. How times had changed.

 

“Some nights we couldn’t even fit in one table,” the dark haired beauty giggled, taking a sip of her drink. She remembered the girls who came to study in Tokyo, old managers and volleyball players, queens and rivals, coming together to mingle and gossip and vent and support one another. They became Kiyoko’s friends, her girls.

 

And then life changed. Some left for jobs, others to start a family. Some didn't leave the city but just didn't keep in touch. And others simply moved on.

 

_Maybe it’s time to move on..._

 

“Hey, Kiyo. Can I be honest about something?” Yukie asked with a surprisingly serious face, making the ravenhead straighten her back.

 

“Of course.”

 

“It’s about your confession.”

 

Kiyoko knew for a fact that the last person who would ever judge her would be Yukie. She knew that the auburn haired girl wouldn’t shame or belittle or label her with anything. But the nerves still settled under her skin, rising like sweat, regardless of what she thought.

 

“It’s just,” the redhead started, taking a large gulp of her cocktail before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, “this whole dilemma of yours doesn’t seem like something someone like you would do. You get what I’m saying?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Okay. Um, like, ugh. I don’t want to say it, but if I had to describ—”

 

“Homewrecker,” Kiyoko finished bluntly, completely aware of the title she bore. Yukie looked at her, but Kiyoko knew she meant no harm. Good intentions didn’t matter against the truth. And the truth was, Kiyoko had given a confession to someone in hope that the feelings would be reciprocated. As far as she was concerned, the name was justified. The ravenhead jumped when she felt a hand on top of her own, the redhead’s pink nail polish bold and bright against Kiyoko's fair skin.

 

“But knowing you, and being your friend, I know that this isn’t something you’d take lightly. I know that you don’t recklessly look for love in cups that are already full.” Kiyoko turned to the other girl, their eyes both open and honest and sitting on top of rosy cheeks.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What I mean is that you...” Yuki started, but then closed her mouth. Then opened it again, only to repeat herself until a smile broke across her face, “Well, you’re probably the most honorable person I know.”

 

Kiyoko felt her head snap back, eyes wide as her glasses drooped down her nose. Those words seemed...too good for her, like she was unworthy of the fond expression on her friend's face and the honesty that seeped through her words. As if the words didn’t steal her breath away.

 

“Yukie…”

 

"It's true. So if...if you of all people think that you were doing the right thing, the right thing for you...then I'm rooting for you."

 

Yukie was sorely underestimated by a lot of people. Kiyoko wondered when in the past couple of years she started to underestimate the girl too, caught off guard that the redhead could say such...kind and insightful things that spoke volumes about her character and their friendship. The girl might be a mess at times, but she was good. Better than herself, for sure.

 

But that didn't’ change the fact that she had no chance.

 

“They’re happy, Yukie. I’d just ruin everything”

 

"Well, I think that you don't take things lightly. So let me ask you something."

 

“Okay,” Kiyoko nodded.

 

“Do you think that you could make this person happier?” the redhead asked. Kiyoko immediately dropped her head, looking anywhere but the other girl’s eyes.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Yes, you do,” the redhead clapped her hands around the raven’s, completely serious, “you know.”

 

She did know her answer. But saying it out loud would make it real. Would make her ill intentions real, along with all the rightful judgment and mixed feelings. But she did indeed know her answer, she knew for years.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you love them?”

 

“Yes,” she whispered, not understanding when her mouth turned dry.

 

“Do you think they love you?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Kiyoko.”

 

“I really don’t know, Yukie. Sometimes, yes. And other times…”

 

_And other times...it’s like I don’t even matter as much. Like I’m just the friend. I’m just background to their relationship, to their lives._

 

_Like I’m just second best._

 

“But they’ve read your confession?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And they haven’t said anything to you about it?”

 

“No,” the ravenhead shook her head, dread and disappointment fresh on her tongue. Yukie nodded, holding Kiyoko’s hands tighter, before she brought them to her lips and kissed her knuckles, reassuring and comforting. The redhead leaned forward, shifting low so that she could look at the ravenhead’s downcast eyes, smokey whirlpools in dire need of reassurance.

 

In need of some hope, too.

 

“Then maybe all you need to do is give Yachi-chan some time.”

 

The dark haired girl heard her neck pop as she snapped it up, her breath stuck in her throat. The rosiness from their drinking had faded into a sickly grey as the words sank deeper and deeper into her worrisome heart.

 

Worried that now that Yukie knew she found the raven haired girl disgusting. Kiyoko thought she was ready, but she was wrong, so wrong. She wasn’t ready for the retaliations yet. Not from anyone. Not from Yukie. Not Mai. Not Yamaguchi. And...not from Hitoka.

 

She was gross and wrong and selfish and of course Hitoka pretended like nothing happened. No acknowledgement to something so vile as Kiyoko's confession. Her desire for the blonde girl had turned from innocent and friendly to something unquenchable and illicit. Warm daydreams haunted her until they morphed into fantasies of the night. Surely Hitoka must have caught onto the looks Kiyoko had always sent her way, but after sending such a confession, the blonde must have come to realise just how immoral her affections for the girl truly were. If anything the older girl must have sent the blonde into a flurry of anxiety, making her tense and uncomfortable and waiting to break the news to Kiyoko. Preparing to break her heart.

 

Her head felt light and her eyes began to burn with salt. And then warmth found its way to her cheeks, cradling her gently. Her eyes focused back, finding Yukie’s face with a smile.

 

“I know what you want to ask, but it doesn’t matter how I know. What matters is that you don’t give up on this. Because it could be beautiful, and it might make everything worthwhile in the end, yes?”

 

She was ice, frozen in place as warm hands held kept her grounded on earth. Kiyoko didn’t know where she found her voice again, broken and cracked and raw.

 

“Yes,” she whispered, tears now framing her lashes.

 

“So here's some advice.”

 

Kiyoko nodded, her glassy eyes spilling.

 

“Fight,” Yukie said, her grip tightening and her smile brighter, “don’t give up.”

 

_Fight for her_ , her heart screamed. Screamed to her every night since she was seventeen. _Fight for what you want and what you need_ — _what you can’t live without._

 

Yes, yes she should.

 

_But what if I lose her?_ Her logic asked, creeping in the shadows with a voice so certain that it smelled like the truth.

 

“I’m scared,” she confessed, unsure of what part of herself to listen to.

 

“I know. But you do your best.”

 

_Be the best for her,_ a voice whispered into her dark hair, a breeze of confidence calming her drumming pulse.

 

“I’ll try.”

 

“Good,” Yukie said, finally letting the girl’s hands go and grabbing her drink and finishing it with a large gulp. Kiyoko just watched, gingerly grabbing a napkin and dabbing her face dry. She didn't’ feel all that embarrassed, but she did feel bad that girl’s night took such a downward turn. But even in guilt, her curiosity won out.

 

“Yukie?”

 

“Hmm?” the redhead hummed, turning back to her friend. Kiyoko tried to swallow her worry.

 

“How did you know?”

 

Yukie sighed, soft and full of kindness.

 

"Because you're one of my best friends and I love you," the redhead giggled, tilting her head to the side as her rosy cheeks stretched into a bright wide smile, looking right at Kiyoko, "And I know you better than you think."

 

The night ended soon after, Yukie saying that she should go home and that Kiyoko had a lot to think about herself. The walk home after that was pleasant, splitting off from the redhead as she caught her train. Half an hour past before Kiyoko turned her key into her own apartment, small and tidy as she shimmied off her coat before draping it on her sofa. She made a beeline for the bath, ready to soak and relax and forget.

 

She sunk herself down into warm water, foaming bubbles and lavender bath salts floating as they mixed with oils. The raven haired girl rested against the porcelain, resting her head on edge of the tub as she lifted her feet to the other end. She tried to coax her mind to relax and stay silent but Yukie’s words kept repeating in her head. Advice that she had always wanted to ask someone but wasn’t sure she was ready for.

 

Kiyoko tried to ignore the strong pull of gravity radiating from her phone, her self-control thinning as she tried to fight the urge to once again reread her email (like she had done every single day since she sent it to her blonde best friend). Like every other time the urge tugged at her, she submitted. She reached her arm over the edge of the tub to where her phone laid on the tile floor against her slippers.  

 

She unlocked her screen and slid her thumb to her inbox, scrolling down to her sent messages. She clicked to her latest sent email to Hitoka, the subject line filled with ‘ _there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time_.’ On the top of the sender’s information, a green writing stood out to the ravenhead as the words wrote out that the message had indeed been received and read.

 

The dark haired beauty skimmed through the letter, her lips pursing as she reread it again. The surface rippled as she shimmied her legs in the water, unable to remain still as she nitpicked every line, wondering if any of her words could have been interpreted wrongly or if there could have been a misconception. Seeing none, like always, she locked her phone and dropped it onto the floor with a pout.

 

There could be many reasons why she hasn’t gotten a response, but none made sense as to why Hitoka acted exactly the same way towards her when they met in person. Hitoka wasn't the sort of person who could hide her feelings, she wore her heart on her sleeve. Kiyoko would have noticed a change. So how could she have acted so casually after knowing how Kiyoko felt about her?

 

Still, she had gotten no reply. And she wondered if her fight was over before she even had a chance to raise her fist. With an uncharacteristic groan, Kiyoko grabbed onto the edge of the tub and submerge herself under the water. Sinking and sinking, wondering how long it would take to drown if she never got another chance to fight for air.

 

**Kuroo**

 

Yep, just your average Friday night for Kuroo; relaxing with two of his best friends—Bokuto and Akaashi, taking a breather and catching up while they waited for their pizza to arrive. Pretty normal...except for the fact that Kuroo was wearing nothing more than a pair of his super risque Dragon Ball briefs. And nothing else. To be fair, this wasn't the first time Kuroo was missing multiple articles of clothing in the apartment of his favorite engaged couple in all of Tokyo. But this time, it was intentional.

It all started when his best bro greeted him at the door in only his silky, tight fitting, incredibly _exposing_ underwear.

 

_(“Jesus fuck, where are your pants!?”)_

 

_(“Pssssh, pants. So overrated.”)_

 

According to Bokuto, the plan was for the dual haired man to wear as little clothing as possible at home—in front of Akaashi—so that the younger man would slowly (but inevitably) succumb to his unadulterated _sexiness_ (his words) and eventually stop being mad at Bokuto for something _he claims_ to have zero clue about. And to make it look like Bo was totally not doing something dumb and stupid and overtly suspicious (his words), he immediately prompted Kuroo to strip at the doorway too, having him hang around in nothing but his delicates. To look _normal,_ according to Bokuto. With Kuroo joining his tomfoolery, he hoped his friend’s plan worked, for poor Akaashi’s sake.

 

So here Kuroo was, going along with this _foolproof_ (his words) plan as he melted further into Bokuto’s living room sofa, lounging with his bro as Akaashi rummaged in the kitchen. And maybe his night had already started off much differently than he had first thought, but if anything it helped him with his ultimate goal of the night: to be completely and utterly distracted.

 

His days have been... _challenging_ lately, but he's been keeping it together for the most part. His haphazard appearance had actually earned him a pat on the back from his boss, who thought that the ravenhead looked awful due to him taking his cases seriously these past few weeks. Work has been a great distraction too, but he couldn't stay in his office forever, pretending that he didn't have an empty apartment to go home to. So he had accepted Bokuto's invitation last week to stay the night with him and his fiance, watch some bad movies and catch up with junk food and drinks.

 

And if Kuroo had to look at Bokuto’s junk all night just so he wouldn’t be alone and constantly think about Tsukki all day—Tsukishima ( _he meant to say Tsukishima_ )—than he would endure that too. He had hoped that his crazy mind could, _for the love of god,_ stop thinking about the blond. Two weeks was long enough to relearn how to forget him again, right?

 

While they waited for Akaashi to return with drinks, Bokuto had started some superhero movie and took the time to inform him that Oikawa had finally shown up to practice that day, settling the bedhead’s uneasiness about the scandal.

 

“I’m glad he’s okay. He had me worried, being that withdrawn...and…” he shuddered, _“...tolerable.”_

 

“Ugh, yeah, I feel you, bro,” Bokuto rasped as he plopped at the foot of the couch in his tight silk briefs, uncaring of Kuroo’s innocent virtue. Kuroo shook his head, unconvinced that Bokuto parading in little to no clothes was actually going to work. But who was the bedhead to deny the hilarious and grumpy expressions that crossed his fiance's face? "Oh, but he and Ushijima are so freaking cute together. You shoulda' seen them."

 

“I bet,” he said, trying his best to appear like his usual self. He was fighting off bad sleeping habits and constant migraines pulsing behind his vision. The ravenhead had to take a double dose of aspirin before taking the train over. But he knew that Bokuto could see right through him. Which only meant that Akaashi could too. The dark haired man tried to remain natural as he felt Bokuto send him a look, doing his best to pay attention to the movie.

 

“Hey, Kuroo..”

 

“Yeah, what’s up buddy?” he replied, hoping he sounded casual.

 

"Did...did you do something you weren't supposed to?"

 

Well, Kuroo couldn’t say that he didn’t see this whole scenario coming from miles away, but he was hoping it wouldn’t be brought up tonight.

 

“What makes you say that?” the ravenhead asked, already dreading the conversation he’s been avoiding. The ravenhead has admittedly been rather moody lately, enough to make anyone notice, including Bokuto—he’s more surprised that it’s taken this long for Bokuto to say anything. He was half expecting the wing spiker to never quit asking him what’s wrong. Kuroo figured he should probably thank Akaashi for that. But Kuroo couldn’t pretend that he hasn’t been noticing the younger man staring at him intently since he arrived earlier.

 

Would he know?

 

_N-no,_ he doubts that. Kuroo hasn’t said a thing, and unless the tall blond had mentioned it to him (which seems highly doubtful, because the younger boy could care less about what had happened. He’s probably forgotten it by now...) then Akaashi wouldn’t know a thing. Unless—

 

_GASP—_ maybe he’s been talking to _Kenma._ That little meddler has been giving the elder ravenhead grief all week. To think that they would be talking about him— _conspiring,_ even. That treacherous little shit. Regardless if it was for his own good, he didn’t want Kenma preparing some sort of good-will coup d'etat against Kuroo and having him admit his wrongdoings. He was perfectly fine living the rest of his life feeling like a complete dickhead, _thank you very much._

 

“Because all week whenever I brought up you coming over tonight, Akaashi got kinda… I don’t know, annoyed?”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Annoyed? With him? That seemed...random.

 

Why would Akaashi be mad at him? Wasn’t he mad at Bokuto right now? Does he really need to share in the younger man’s wrath along with his burly best bro? No, that couldn’t be it. Akaashi knew that whatever Bokuto did, Kuroo wasn’t always to blame or always involved.

 

Only sometimes.

 

“Have you talked to him at all since last week?” Bokuto asked.

 

“Not since we were over at Ken’s place.”

 

"Hmm," Bokuto hunched forward as he stroked an imaginary beard with his hand, sticking his tongue out as he thought hard, "You sure? Because he's also been asking me about you for the past few days."

 

“Why?”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Bokuto slumped, giving Kuroo a half-assed glare, “Whatcha’ do to my boo, Kuroo?”

 

“Dude, I honestly can’t think of a single reason why Akaashi would be mad at me.”

 

“Hmm,” Bokuto hummed, keeping the playful glare on his friend, “well, you better figure it out. Wouldn’t want to be on his bad side, ya’ know.”

 

“You mean like you?” the bedhead replied, earning a cute squawk from the wing spiker.

 

The younger ravenhead walked out from the kitchen to the pair, his fuzzy robe snug around his frame while carrying a bottle of red wine and two Ramuné. Akaashi passed both soft drinks to Bokuto who tossed one to Kuroo, the dark haired man opening it with ease as he watched the younger ravenhead sit on a recliner.

 

“Pizza should be here soon,” the younger man said aloud.

 

“Nice, I’ll answer when he gets here!”

 

“You will do no such thing dressed like that, Koutarou.”

 

Fizzled soda ran down Kuroo's throat, leaving his tongue tingling. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Bokuto took a swig of his own, grumbling a complaint that went unheard. Then he noticed that Akaashi had forgotten to get himself a glass, or had left it in the kitchen. Before he could offer to get one, the younger man uncorked the bottle, gripping the neck before taking a generous sip, his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Kuroo could only raise his brows in surprise, Bokuto doing the same.

 

Akaashi could hold his liquor better than most (way better than Kenma and Bo, for sure), that wasn't anything new.

 

But...still. The younger ravenhead didn't tend to get shitfaced often, and even when he did, he would share. The bedhead stiffened a laugh, wondering what had happened to the couple because based on his whitening grip around the bottle, Akaashi must be really, _really_ mad at Bokuto.  

 

Kuroo hoped this wouldn’t continue throughout the night, though. Akaashi tended to be a mean drunk sometimes.

 

“Um, babe,” Bokuto asked, tentatively, “you good?”

 

“I’m great,” the former setter bit out serenely, resting the bottle on top of his lap.

 

“Maybe you should slow down?” the wing spiker suggested timidly. Akaashi turned his head to his other half, an unamused expression painting his face.

 

“Well, we have a guest, so maybe _you_ should put on some pants,” he grumbled, immediately receiving a childish pout from Bokuto.

 

“But why? It’s just Kuroo,” the dual haired man whined, shimmying across the rug to the foot of the seat Akaashi sat on. “He doesn’t mind.”

 

_“I_ mind, Koutarou,” Akaashi pressed, words dropping the temperature of the room. Kuroo yearned for the warmth of his clothes.

 

After years of knowing the younger man, Kuroo would’ve taken the silent warning more seriously if he were Bokuto. But the larger man just grinned at his fiance, without fear. The former Nekoma captain sat back against the couch, watching Akaashi’s patience thin fraction by fraction as Bokuto assured his fiance that there was no problem in his attire.

 

The younger man tried to ignore his fiance, gingerly holding (death-gripping) his wine bottle as he tried to take another sip, Bokuto all the while rubbing himself along Akaashi’s bare legs, hoping the skin on skin contact might elicit a softer reaction from the man. To no avail, though.

 

Then the pepper-head rose from the rug with a smug grin, making a spectacle of himself in his underwear as he hopped onto the younger man, draping himself over his poor lover who was half his size. But instead of shrinking away from the affection—or flat out knocking his fiance off—Akaashi just sighed, placed his bottle on the coffee table to not spill all over his carpet, and waited till the larger man settled on his lap, nestling his nose into dark locks, then gripped Bokuto’s knees and shoulders so he wouldn’t fall off.

 

It was a cute picture, like an owner and his very buff, overgrown pet. Or really more like a couple of teenagers, cuddling so candidly without regard to other possibly suffering individuals in the room.

 

After they adjusted themselves comfortably, the younger man moved his hand along Bokuto’s arm, circling his thumb as he caressed the rough skin. Kuroo grinned at the sight, holding back a snicker at the thought of Bokuto being able to get away with anything when it came to Akaashi, who could never really stay mad at his older goofball fiance.

 

The endearment was obviously welcomed, Bokuto purring along his lover’s neck, spreading a light blush along his nape. It was a cute picture, indeed. It kinda reminded him of their teenage years—back when he’d egg Akaashi on to relay messages to Bokuto, and belt out awe-inspiring pep talks to his bro, urging him to ask the pretty setter out on a date. Back in the day, when he watched his friends from the sidelines as they came to realize they belonged together.  

 

He’s known the pair for a long, _long_ time, so Kuroo has picked up on the stray glances that they would always send each other’s way. He’s watched them fumble around with their obvious crushes since middle school when Bokuto would pine and mope about his pretty teammate at the local skatepark. The messy haired teen witnessed their shy beginnings as an official couple, the gentle sway of their romance. As an adult, he’s been a loyal audience member who’s done his best in keeping his envy in check as he watched his friends gradually grow more and more in sync over the years, smoothly gliding to the beat of their own song.

 

_Ah_ , Kuroo thought, _so that’s what love looks like._

 

It was a routine that Kuroo never got the hang of—a dance that he watched from the sidelines as everyone in his life slowly but surely perfected the steps with their own perfect partners. A rhythmic routine he watched from a distance time and time again. Romance was never his dance to perfect.

 

Still, eight years was a _long_ time to stumble on two left feet.

 

An ache that had been impossible to ignore as of late spread beneath the bedhead’s chest, dull and muted as it waltzed slowly against his ribs—a cruel pace. Complex steps had made it impossible to sleep some nights for the ravenhead, making him dizzy with remorse and unanswered questions. Watching two of his best friends—two people who found their other halves in spite of it all, in spite of everything that came and dared to tear them apart—reopened a wound that had been blistering out since high school, had started to bleed out again weeks ago, blunt nails scratching rivers of red on his skin, the ghost of past scars resurfacing from their sleep.

 

 

_Soft blonde hair rested on his elbow, the younger boy fast asleep in his arms, his back facing him. Kuroo had been awake for hours, the moonlight dancing through the window as he continued to admire the taller boy, all his worries forgotten in that moment. He rested a hand on the boy's chest, wrapping and pulling him closer as his fingers tapped along to the beat of the blond's steady heart. His back was warm, cute beauty marks sprinkled onto his fair skin. He looked so young_ — _baby-faced even_ — _when he wasn't scowling. His breathing was a lullaby, each inhale a note of autumn and each exhale a timbre of the sea. And Kuroo didn't know how he was going to be able to leave._

 

_Maybe it was his fault, for putting the younger boy on a pedestal for so many years, for not telling him of his feelings and walking in limbo, for only being clandestine. And for being satisfied with only being useful, not wanted. Desired, but not cherished._

 

Love is hard when you’re young, _Kuroo thought._

 

_Then he remembered that this wasn’t love. This isn’t what love feels like. Love isn’t painful. It isn’t selfish, or hushed, or something he should be afraid to voice to the person lying in his arms. This is heartache. And he needed to leave. In order to heal._

 

_He hasn’t told Kei yet, that he’s leaving._

 

_He wanted to tell him when he got accepted into the program last month, but he couldn’t._

 

_Wanted to tell him that he had finalized his schedule and would be finishing his schooling abroad last week, but he didn’t._

 

_He wanted to tell him last night that he finally booked his flight to SFO, but the blond had smiled so sweetly to him and had kissed him so gently_ — _so convincingly, that he was too scared._

 

The morning _, he thought,_ I’ll tell him in the morning _. But for now, he wanted to breathe in the younger man’s scent, remember the curve of the blond’s spine against his chest and pretend that he was brave enough to hold Kei as a lover and not a secret._

 

_He'll tell him in the morning, but he'll bask in this make-believe bliss for now. While he still could hold him, while he could still watch him sleep in his embrace. Before he could dwell more, the blond began to stir in his arms, groaning lowly as he twisted his head to look back at Kuroo who smiled like a sap, kissing the younger boy's shoulder. The darkness had begun to fade and a hazy morning glow had started to paint the room._

 

_The morning had come, light peeking through the blinds._

 

_“Why are you up?” Kei mumbled, now fully facing the ravenhead with sleepy eyes and smacking his lips due to cottonmouth. The older man just nestled closer, earning a low groan._

 

_“Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”_

 

_“Like what?” Kei yawned._

 

You _, he wanted to say,_ always you _._

 

_But that wouldn’t change anything. Kuroo knew it wouldn’t. He was never meant to have this boy forever. He was never meant to know this love._

 

_“...about something I need to tell you.”_

 

_“Hmm?” the blond hummed, rubbing his eyes before he looked back to Kuroo. The raven crafted his face to cold stone as the rays of dawn spilled through the cracks of the curtains. The blond blinked at the expression. The older man swallowed any hesitation he felt, plunging head first into cold waters_ — _into the end._

 

_His heart bled._

 

_“I’m leaving, Tsukki.”_

 

“Kuroo’s totally looking at my ass, babe.”

 

“He’s not, Koutarou. He’s obviously just lost in thought.”

 

The ravenhead snapped his eyes to the couple, the pair giving him anxious looks as he blinked rapidly, trying to assess what he may have missed. He gave a half-assed grin, scratching the back of his neck as he apologized for zoning out. He wondered if the apology looked as unconvincing as it felt.

 

Usually, he would be rewarded with a snarky remark from Akaashi and a hoot from Bokuto, but he received neither. Instead, the pair frowned, sending each other a look that Kuroo couldn’t fully understand. Before he could ask, the couple turned their eyes back at him, their faces grave as they looked at him with a hard stare, making the words in his mouth sink back into his throat.

 

Kuroo felt the first trickle of sweat on his brow when Bokuto finally spoke.

 

“Bro, I understand the whole _pretend to respect your privacy until you’re ready to talk about whatever is seriously bothering you_ thing, and I’m trying to hold up to that, but even _I_ could tell that it’s been days since you’ve gotten a full night’s rest judging by the dead eyes and the dead face and the dead well, _whatever the sculpture on your head is,_ and even without having to bro hug you, I’m kinda not sure you’ve been following recommended showering protocol for the past few days,” the wing spiker deadpanned, ignoring the harsh sigh from Akaashi due to his fiance’s _not-so-delicate_ scolding. “Kuroo, you straight up look like shit. Even shittier than that. If shit could shit shit, and then _that_ shit shitted shit, you’d be that. The shit of shit’s shit. The third generation shit. Anyways, we’re crazy worried, Kuroo. _You look like shit.”_

 

Granted, Kuroo was completely aware that this was going to happen sooner or later. He just hoped that it would’ve been later, much _much_ later. He wasn't sure which he dreaded more, the interrogation he was about to receive, or the lecture that was certain to follow afterwards. The way he saw it, he had two options: either tell them the whole story now and get the potentially mind-breaking earful out and over with, or just wait till everything explodes in his face in the distant future (or not so distant, seeing how quickly he's beginning to unravel—a mere two weeks being enough to make him Shit the Third).

 

_Or_ he could wait till Kenma coaxed it out of him (he will, soon, inevitably, 100% success rate) and decide then.

 

Regardless of his own relationship problems, that bottle blond had found the time to annoy Kuroo all week to admit what was wrong. It was only a matter of time before his best friend would force his hand. He didn’t really have any other choice at this point.  

 

Wait. He just remembered there was a _fourth_ option, one he’s chosen time and time again, embracing the choice like a sweet friend—denial.

 

Denial was his true partner, swaying gracefully alongside him since he could remember.

 

"Nothing is bothering me, guys. I'm fine," he lied, practically spoon feeding crap to his friends, incapable of letting his problems come back to the light, where he could see them. Where they could remind him of the past. Where they can hurt him and bruise him and break him with the hard truth of his false-hearted promise of the future.

 

“What happened with Tsukishima, Kuroo?”

 

However, it would seem that Akaashi wasn’t having any of his shit. Kuroo tried to remain unmoved, unconvincingly stoic as his pulse picked up at the name.

 

“What?” Kuroo asked, the slightest hesitance in his voice. The couple kept their eyes on him until Akaashi nudged Bokuto, softly pushing him off his lap (a low whine drifted from the larger man) and letting him sit back down on the carpet. Akaashi scooted himself to the edge of his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at Kuroo with a serious expression, brows knitted and a tightness to his jaw.

 

"I said, what happened with Tsukishima?" Akaashi repeated, his tone clearly expressing his displeasure. Usually, Kuroo would appease the younger man, telling him exactly what he'd want to hear just to get the other man off his back. But this was different because Kuroo knew that he gave no implication about the reasons for his behavior lately. He's kept his lips shut for weeks now and knew for a fact he hasn't so much as _voiced_ the tall blond’s name out loud since that fateful morning.

 

So Akaashi would have no idea what his crisis would be about, and yet he does. Which only meant that he either was definitely conspiring against him with Kenma...or the elusive blond skyscraper had told him something himself.

 

The thought made the hair back on his neck stand. Kuroo cleared his throat, hoping that his voice didn’t sound so broken from the desires that were trapped inside his teeth.

 

“Did...he say anything to you?” he asked, his voice cracking like he had swallowed glass. He cleared his throat again, embarrassed that he exposed his nerves. When he looked up, Bokuto had a worried frown.

 

His fiance, however, looked thoroughly annoyed with the older raven haired man. Kuroo thought that maybe Akaashi wouldn’t say anything about it, ignore Kuroo’s questions about the blond and get straight to the lecturing without hearing his side of the story, but he didn’t. Akaashi just lifted his hand to rub along his temple, swallowing down a heavy groan.

 

“He didn’t tell me anything. But I could tell he’s been upset,” the younger man looked directly at him, “In fact, I started to notice around the same time you began to look like you were bothered by something. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

 

As relieving as knowing that the blond didn’t confide in Akaashi to complain about their very brief and disappointing reunion, Kuroo felt disheartened. He’s never enjoyed upsetting the blond, but it had turned out to be something he had become rather proficient at. (However, what was unnerving was how bothered Akaashi seemed to be about a dilemma that _wasn’t even his business._ Kuroo knew that he and the blond were good friends, but the former setter was sending some hostile vibes his way that he couldn't find any justification for. Especially if Tsukki didn’t even tell him wh—fuck, _Tsukishima_...Tsukishima is what he meant—especially if Tsukishima didn’t tell him what had transpired during that horrific morning after.)

 

“Wait,” Bokuto interrupted, excitement blooming across his face as he jumped in place, "did you tell him how you feel, bro?! Is that it?"

 

Being a great friend, Bokuto might actually be rooting for him, and maybe even wanted to help Kuroo with his long-standing infatuation for his kouhai, but intentions aren't enough sometimes. And intentions don't mean shit when said best bro, _who promised to keep your secret and take it to the grave_ , openly talks about said feelings in front of someone who might not have known.

 

That someone being very close friends to the object of his affections.

 

That someone who happens to be giving the nastiest stink eye Kuroo had probably ever received in his life ( _and Kuroo has been in the same room as Daisho on more than one occasion, but his glare still didn’t match Akaashi’s_ ). There’s no way someone could be that careless. Not even the brawny wing-spiker.

 

“Bokuto, what the fuck. _What the shit.”_

 

“What?”

 

There’s no way someone could be that clueless. No way.

 

He had no words. The utter betrayal he felt was just ludicrous. Kuroo's slack-jawed face just stared at Bokuto, hoping the other man would understand his fatal mistake. After a few more seconds of the dual-colored haired man still looking confused, Kuroo immediately threw an arm to Akaashi's direction, the younger man taking another _sip_ from his bottle.

 

Bokuto’s face immediately lit up, finally understanding exactly what Kuroo meant.

 

_“Oh!_ Bro, I told Akaashi already.”

 

...what.

 

“Holy heckin’ Jesus, Bo! I trusted you!” Kuroo moaned, fisting his hair in frustration.

 

“Hey! He’s my fiance! Soon-to-be husband! What I know, he knows. I tell my baby _everything,_ bruh,” the dual haired spiker rebutted smugly.

 

(“Sure you do,” Akaashi grumbled, going unheard by the older men in the room talking, _screaming,_ at full volume.)

 

_“Besides,”_ Bokuto pressed, “when I told him, he said that he already knew.”

 

Full disclosure: Kuroo was hardly ever surprised. Rarely has he never seen something coming his way. There are a handful of people in his life, however, who’ve shown that they can occasionally get the better of him. One was his childhood friend, another was the boy who he had mixed feelings for. There was his dentist, _but that was a one-time thing_ . And then there was Akaashi—but his unpredictability wasn’t occasional, it was his _default._ He just always seemed to know how to catch him off guard. He shouldn't even be surprised that he’d be surprised at this point.

 

But Kuroo didn’t get it—how could the ravenhead seem to know _everything?_

 

“WHAT?”

 

“Yes, Kuroo. I knew,” Akaashi grimaced, “It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

 

The deep, dark secret he had kept locked in his heart for years—single-handedly, obliterated—' _wasn’t that hard to figure out,’ what the shit, Akaashi?!_

 

“Since when?!”

 

"Depends on what you're asking. If we're talking about your little _crush,”_ Akaashi’s scowl deepened at the word, “since my last year in Fukurodani. If we’re talking about your _little arrangement_ ,” his tone grew sharper, “I knew around the same time. As for your blatant feelings,” his eyes narrowed, “about a few months after your joke of a relationship began.”

 

Okay, _ouch._

 

So Tsukishima is a touchy subject, Kuroo understood that, but Akaashi could afford to simmer it down a bit. As controlled as he was, the older ravenhead had limits to his temper.

 

Kuroo isn't a bad person, he knew that he was an all around good guy. So he sucked with romance; there are worse things that he couldn't have turned out to be beside someone who's shitty at relationships. The ravenhead felt a vein start to pulse on his forehead, his anger wanting to tell Akaashi to keep his tone in check, but he refrained, knowing that there was truth to his words. And messy haired man was the one who asked. So he reeled in his defensive urge and tried to get back to the topic at hand.

 

“Really?”

 

“Oh yes,” the younger man sneered, his tone dripped with warning, “I’ve also been very much aware that your obsession has yet to fully wither away over the years, unfortunately.”

 

Excuse me, did he hear that right?

 

Apparently, for reasons beyond Kuroo’s understanding, Akaashi seemed to be incredibly vexed by his confusing feelings more than he really had any reason to. More so than the older ravenhead would have thought capable. Maybe the younger man felt like he should come to the blond's defense, but _fuck_ —he didn’t have to be so goddamn rude.

 

Besides, the former middle blocker wasn’t obsessed. He had risky feelings and a questionable history, but he wasn’t obsessed. Kuroo was genuinely confused about what to do with said feelings but he wouldn’t let Akaashi dirty his sentiments for Kei— _Tsukishima_ , Tsukishima is what he meant. It wasn’t obsession and it wasn’t just lust, it was lo—

 

“I’m not obsessed,” Kuroo said, interrupting his thoughts before they took a wrong turn back to his past.

 

“Oh really?” Akaashi jeered, “Then what would you call it?”

 

Kuroo could feel his heart beat faster and his hands tightened into fists.

 

“None of your business, to tell you the truth.”

 

"Watch it, bro. That's my man," Bokuto warned from his spot on the rug, "Besides, let’s cut the bullshit. We all know you totally still want him.”

 

“Want is a different matter, entirely,” Akaashi said, his face still cold.

 

“Why are you giving me such a hard time?” Kuroo exasperated, not understanding why he was feeling attacked rather than interrogated.

 

“Because I don't know what you did, but whatever it was, he’s hurting because of it.”

 

Kuroo was getting really tired of the way Akaashi was looking at him and reminding him that he fucked everything up. He’s fully aware of his self-sabotage.

 

“And you automatically think I had something to do with it?”

 

“You just implied that you might have done something, and you really do know how to fuck things up when it comes to him,” the younger man said, straightening his back and watching Kuroo through grey slitted eyes, “So what did you do?”

 

“Honestly, I highly doubt that I could have had any major effect on him,” he answered. Kuroo knew the words were true, and even as he hoped that they would appease his friends, he should have been prepared for the sting those words would leave on his ego. “He’s ice to me now, we only hang out with”— _one purpose in mind, with bad intentions and no hope for me or what I really want, what I’ve never had a chance for_ —“friends around.”

 

The couple looked unconvinced.

 

“Tell us, Kuroo. What did you do?”

 

“I just ran into him,” he blurted, _“Okay!?_ I ran into him when I was grabbing a bite. That’s all. Happy?” It was the truth, Kuroo reasoned. He wasn't lying. But the rest seemed...personal. Private and heartbreaking and not something he wanted to think about around other people. It was for when he was alone and moping and wishing that it could be different.

 

“When?” Bokuto urged, turning serious.

 

“Two weeks ago.” _(Technically, 15 days, 2 hours, 11 minutes, and 23 seconds, but that's beside the point.)_

 

“Kuroo, what aren’t you telling us?”

 

_Why would they think I would_ want _to tell them?_ The ravenhead thought, exasperated. He didn’t do anything wrong, per se.

 

It was none of their business. It had nothing to do with them.

 

He’s okay dealing with it on his own. He’s been doing just fine.

 

Besides, it was all in the past. Four years was long enough for the blond to move on.

 

It didn’t matter anymore. It was over now. Kei has proba—

 

Sorry. Tsukishima. He meant Tsukishima.

 

(He meant to say Tsukishima. He’s Tsukishima. Not Tsukki. Not Kei. Not anything else. He’s just...Tsukishima now.)

 

And it was over, and it was the past, and they weren’t together, and they were never a couple, and so he left, and _Tsukishima_ let him.

 

And he let Kuroo leave _again_. And he didn’t stop him.

 

And so Kuroo ran away, _again_.

 

Because Kei— _Tsukishima_ —must have realized that it was for the best.

 

So Kuroo fled, and ran away, and hid from everything and his life was _just fine._ And Tsukishima was obviously doing so _fucking great_ without him.

 

Because he never needed Kuroo in the first place.

 

And maybe it might just take Kuroo a little more time than the blond to see what Tsukishima obviously saw; what the blond must have seen all this time that made him so goddamn certain they never had a shot in the first place.

 

And somehow, someday, Kuroo would finally move on too.

 

And be happy.

 

And not think about Tsukishima.

 

And stop feeling like complete shit whenever he woke up in the morning.

 

And forget how it felt to be lying next to Tsukishima as if the younger boy was made just to fit perfectly in his arms like he belonged there. He will learn to forget.

 

So how was it fair for someone else, _who had no business to butt in_ , to ask him to remember now? Now, when he's trying to figure out how to erase any ounce of reminiscence of that night.

 

Those years.

 

That boy.

 

_That love._

 

It wouldn’t change anything.

 

Tsukishima would still _only_ be Tsukishima. Nothing more.

 

And he was still Kuroo, ruining everything he touched.

 

He was still damaged and full of remorse.

 

And he was still hurting.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

“Kuroo?”

 

He looked up, catching the couple staring with the same intent...but a trace of concern ran across their face. At first, he was confused, wondering if his weeks of keeping it together were coming undone or if he really just couldn't hide his feelings as well as he thought.

 

“Nothing, he just...it was nothing.”

 

He felt the younger ravenhead watch him, sympathy casting across his face, the disdain from earlier draining from his rigid posture.

 

“You honestly expect us to believe you when you say it’s nothing, but still look so…” Akaashi pursed his lips, fighting for the right word to describe...just what Kuroo was.

“So...” he tried again, looking back at Bokuto for help. The dual haired man just crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side trying to find the most appropriate thing to say. Then, almost simultaneously, both men turned to Kuroo, the perfect word on the tip of their tongues.

 

“Tragic.” “Shitty.”

 

Well, they were both...not wrong.

 

“...what do you want me to say?” Kuroo asked, any fight left in him leaking out his pores and leaving him limp and cold on the sofa cushions, the white noise of the movie steady in the background.

 

“The truth,” Bokuto urged, taking a seat next to Kuroo, their bare thighs pressed against one another. The larger man swung his arm over Kuroo’s shoulder, his hand pulling the taller man’s head to Bokuto’s shoulder. It felt warm and familiar.

 

“Come on, just tell us. It can’t be that bad, bro.”

 

Oh, Bokuto.

 

He should know better by now.  
  
Being his bro, one of his best friends, he should be fully aware of how much Kuroo could really fuck something up.

 

“I ran into him and then he invited me back to his place...and I went.”

 

The two other men groaned simultaneously.

 

“Bro, why would you do that?”

 

“You really never learn, do you, Kuroo?” Akaashi asked, a forceful sigh passing his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“To be fair, he invited me back just to eat,” Kuroo shrugged, knowing his words were meaningless.

 

“To eat?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Kuroo, please. You honestly expect us to believe you went with him without other intentions on your mind?”

 

“I seriously didn’t go there for my dick.”

 

“Dude, what’d you think was gonna happen?” Bokuto asked, giving his friend a squeeze on his shoulder.  

 

“Honestly,” the bedhead sighed, dropping his head down as he stared at his hands _—his hands pressed and grabbed soft, pale, palpable flesh, his fingers strumming each vertebra on the blond’s spine upwards, the younger boy on his lap tilting his head to the side and sighing softly as his palms kneaded golden locks—_ a sudden pain forcing his knuckles into a fist, “I had hoped we’d just ...hang out. And talk.”

 

“Talk?”

 

“Yeah,” Kuroo chuckled, no mirth in his voice, “Like an idiot...I just wanted to be around him again. I missed him. Is that so wrong?” he asked. He looked up to Akaashi, genuinely expecting the younger man to reprimand him again. It was clear that he was not happy with Kuroo still attempting to interact with the blonde man in question.

 

He was met with a perplexed look, as if the younger ravenhead was torn between staying mad at him or making him some hot chocolate to cheer him up. Kuroo gave a half-smile, wondering just how awful looking he must have been to make even Akaashi take mercy on him.

 

He must have looked really pathetic.

 

“I just didn’t want to let go. He had—,” the ravenhead continued, chewing at his lips trying to find the right words to explain his rationale that night, his eagerness and thirst, his desperate attempt to prolong a moment that Tsukki was— _Tsukishima_ was finally looking at him, and only him, “—finally given me hope that maybe we could be...kinda friends, or something. It wouldn’t be like before, I know that, but I would have been okay with that.”

 

The ravenhead winced, feeling his blunt nails begin to dig into his palm, nasty red marks etching the skin. The back of his neck began to burn, and Kuroo could hear his teeth grind together as his jaw clenched, the words hurting as he said them out loud after years of swallowing them down his throat.

 

The still stung once they left his tongue.

 

“As long as I could be close to him, again. All these years I’ve just been trying to pretend that it was nothing because it was easier, I guess. Because that way I might actually believe it too—" he shook his head, his bangs brushing his cheek, shielding the glassed over eyes with a self-deprecating grin, fully aware of all that he wished he could have changed, all that he wished he could have had, "—and it would hurt less and I could stop...missing him like crazy. He invited me and all I knew was that I just wanted it to feel like before. I was happier before. _God_ —” he half groaned, “—I was so fucking happy.”

 

And he wished he could go back—go back to being 21 and search high and low for some guts to just say _something_ , regardless of knowing the blond’s answer.

 

“I just wanted to talk and be around him. I thought maybe he would want to try being friends,” he smiled, closing his eyes as he hunched against his friend's arm, leaning onto him so he wouldn’t sink anymore, “Then...I realized why he invited me over. And I didn’t want it.”

 

“Bro…”

 

“No, I mean, not that. Yes, yes, of course, I think I'll always want him that way. But, what I meant is that I don’t want it to be like before. Where it was _just_ that,” he tried to make clear, “I don’t want to be...expendable to him again. So I tried to leave and then...”

 

He tried to leave and then...and then…

 

“Then what happened?” Bokuto asked, face inches away from Kuroo’s own. Akaashi too was eagerly waiting for Kuroo’s words. The bedhead just sat there, staring at his hands as his fingers unfolded. There was a shake.

 

Two weeks wasn’t a long time to bury a bloody heart.

 

Four years, however, was plenty of time.

 

And yet...

 

“He kissed me.” And that was it. All it took was Tsukishima to show an ounce of interest and Kuroo was putty in his hands. He was willing and wanting and lonely and happy again. For a night, at least. And morning came, and he was still just Kuroo.

 

Coffee wouldn't have changed that.

 

“Please tell me he’s just upset because you didn’t kiss him back and just went home, and he feels rejected,” Akaashi said, a pained expression on his face, already knowing his answer.

 

Even if that wasn't the case, it did remind Kuroo of his confusion over the blond. Why would he be upset? Surely, Tsukishima should have been ecstatic that Kuroo saved him the trouble of an awkward morning after. Then again, it wasn’t his most graceful exit in the least. And he did indeed say some uncalled for things.  

 

“Maybe it is because I rejected him…” he reasoned, remembering how the blond had frozen over once again after Kuroo brilliantly opened his big mouth. That had to be it.

 

“Oh thank god,” Bokuto sighed in relief, slapping Kuroo's back as he wiped his forehead from imaginary sweat, “I was worried you might have stayed the night or something.”

 

The movie was probably the loudest sound for a couple of seconds after Bokuto’s words. The lack of response enough of a confirmation that Akaashi shook his head before he brought his hands to cover his face, a low groan escaping him. Bokuto face completely blanked.

 

“Kuroo, no.”

 

“Bruh...are you stupid?" Bokuto moped, running his hand through his hair in displeasure. Akaashi grabbed his half-empty bottle again, holding it higher as he took another swig in hopes that he'd find God at the bottom, or a reason not to hit Kuroo with it.

 

“It just happened,” he said, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words, “I really didn't mean to. It just happened.”

 

“Wait,” Akaashi interjected, lowering his wine, “that makes no sense. You didn't reject him, then.”

 

Akaashi looked at him, wanting an explanation. Kuroo couldn’t look him in the eye. He just turned his head slightly to the left and stared at the wall.

 

“Um, the next morning… he invited me to stay around for a while. I couldn’t. I just panicked and said whatever I thought it’d take to leave faster,” he explained.

 

“Why would you do that?” Akaashi yelled, his hostile tone from earlier returning to his voice once again, his face hardening. Kuroo jumped back, feeling Bokuto do the same next to him, caught off guard once again from the younger man and his confusing anger. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t upset Akaashi more, something that wouldn’t give him the wrong impression.

 

“Because I knew if I’d stay, that might end up being the first morning of many mornings of the same pattern I had with him,” he tried to reason, “And I’m tired of it now. It’s different with other people, I don’t care about them. He’s...he’s just”—he groaned, grabbing his hair trying his best not to yank his locks out of frustration—“I can’t stand the idea of waiting for him to throw me away again.”

 

“How are you so sure?” Akaashi asked.

 

“Because I know. It’ll always be the same with Tsukki— _Tsukishima,_ I mean,” he bit out, his muscles tensed at the full name still foreign to him, like talking with marbles in his mouth, _“It’ll always be the same with him.”_ He felt Bokuto hover close to him, probably unsure of what to make of his correction.

 

“What did you say to him?” Kuroo looked at Akaashi, wondering why the former setter would think that important.

 

“What?”

 

“When you were leaving. You said that you told him ‘what you had to’ so you could leave faster and, from what I could guess,” Akaashi said, “you wanted to make sure he understood that you wouldn’t be back. Right? So what was said?”

 

“He said that we should hang out,” he titled his heads, trying to remember exactly what he had said that morning weeks ago. Then suddenly, like a punch to the gut, his voice chimed in his thoughts repeating those words...“And I told him that I didn’t really think that we should. It was a bad idea. That it was—” Kuroo cringed, remembering how the words fell from his lips—how the blond had almost flinched at the audacity of his voice.

 

Suddenly, an overwhelming dread lingered inside him, self-hatred churning in his blood.

 

“I said that it was fun but felt a little...repetitive.”

 

“Is that what you told him?” Bokuto asked, appalled.

 

“No,” he said, shaking his head again at himself, wondering what state of mind he must have been to say something so unnecessarily cruel. He wasn’t like that to anyone. Especially not to the blond. Maybe it was the embarrassment that had Tsukishima feeling upset these past few days. That someone like Kuroo would make him feel so unwanted and undesirable. Maybe that was it…

 

“I said it felt kinda ‘ _been there, done that_ ’...that we shouldn’t hang with each other again like that.” He finished, taking a deep breath, no longer bothering to shift the frown shadowing his face. Even after weeks, the words felt so wrong. He never wanted to upset Kei.

 

Kei was—was just Tsukishima now. He’s not Kei to him anymore.

 

He made sure of that.

 

_“You fucking idiot,”_ Akaashi spat.

 

“Bro. That’s so harsh.”

 

“I had to. I can’t do that again,” he tried to explain, wanting them to understand why he said those words, why he had to offend the younger man—to cut it off so coldly, “If I do, I’ll just be like I was and what’s worse, I know I’ll allow it to happen all over again,” he reasoned, hoping they could understand the struggle he’s bottled up since weeks ago, since forever, “I’d let myself go back to what we were before, for even a speck of his attention.”

 

He can’t do it. He couldn’t do it again. The raven head clenched his jaw at the thought, frustrated that since their encounter he’s had moments of almost giving in and calling the younger blond, asking him to ask Kuroo again—that he’d be willing once again. For whatever he’d give.

 

Then, after those traitorous thoughts clouded his head, he started to vomit, his own body punishing him for his weakness.

 

He was tempted, and his brain tortured him with sleepless nights. And he was so close to running back to the small, warm apartment—body and soul for the taking.

 

Then his heart began to clench. It tightened, and twisted, and stretched in his chest, throwing himself in a fit of panic. His heart convinced that he was dying. That this boy was killing him.

 

This love was going to kill him if he became expendable again

 

“I can’t go back to what I was to him. _I just can’t.”_

 

To see Tsukishima only in dim bedroom lighting would break him.

 

To pretend that he didn’t want to kiss him like a lover would hurt him.

 

To bite his tongue so that he wouldn’t tell the blond that he wanted more of him, needed more of him, loved him for more than a night— _since forever, since the beginning, since always_ —would kill him. He knew it would.

 

_“ If you’re feeling shitty, you have only yourself to blame. ”_

 

Kuroo and Bokuto looked back to Akaashi’s face, frozen over once again after the words fell from his lips. But there was a fire brimming in his glare, grey stones searing Kuroo’s own.

 

“What?” Kuroo whispered, not sure if he heard that right.

 

_“You’re_ the one who made the decision to label it as a hookup, thinking for both of you. _Like you always did, always have,”_ the younger ravenhead hissed, “even if you did think it was for your own good, you were also the one who to blame for discouraging anything from happening between you and Tsukishima in the first place.”

 

“But that’s what it was,” Kuroo argued, “why else would he randomly invite me over?”

 

“I’m talking about the beginning too, Kuroo!” The ravenhead flinched as Akaashi yelled, his voice strained with frustration, the rosy cheeks on the younger man showing that the earlier gulps of wine weren’t helping his volume, “it was _you_ who wanted no strings. He’s not to blame for sticking to your MO. _You_ were the one who started this!”

 

“I know that, but it was _pretty obvious_ that he was more than that to me!” Kuroo yelled back, his temper finally clawing out from inside him, “He stayed over all the time. We made plans. We were always together. We went on dates that we didn’t call dates, we checked up on each other like fucking boyfriends, for fuck's sake!" He knew that he should stop yelling, what with Bokuto's grip becoming incredibly tight on his shoulder. He should stop yelling, because he's not this emotional around other people, but the words kept falling out of him, like rainwater spilling out of the gutter, “I cared about him more than just some friend. We were basically a couple—and then we weren't! And yeah, I know it was my fault but it’s hard when he’s treated me like some distant classmate or some random acquaintance for years after it was OBVIOUS that I felt for him more than anybody else!”

 

He should really stop yelling, the neighbors might hear.

 

“And Kei isn’t stupid okay, he’s—fuck, I mea-I meant Tsukishima—but he’s not!”

 

The bedhead felt too exposed, in nothing but Dragon Ball briefs and his heart bleeding along his sleeves. He was standing now, brushing Bokuto off as he stared at Akaashi who had stood from his own seat, eye leveling Kuroo’s own, increasing in anger.

 

“He’s not blind, he must have known!” he continued, “There’s no way he didn’t see it! There’s no way he wouldn’t have known how I felt! But he didn’t say anything, _ever._ He didn’t want to see it! He gave me no hope that I even had a shot. Nothing changed!”

 

_“You left!”_

 

Kuroo froze, the words shocking him. What did that have to do with anything?

 

“You left, and you left without telling him _why,”_ Akaashi spat, “And even if you thought you guys didn’t have a chance, after three whole years he deserved to know why. He deserved to _know,_ Kuroo!”

 

“Babe, maybe simmer it down, he feels bad already," Bokuto whispered, not wanting to set Akaashi off even more.

 

_“No!”_ Akaashi growled, pointing at the older ravenhead, “You can't put all the fault on him. He's known you only as someone who wants nothing more than a warm body. You can't blame him for never trying for anything else when you gave him no hope that you wanted more from him. You know him, why would he ever put himself out in harm’s way? Why would he do that when he believed that you would never accept that!?”

 

The bedhead just stared, unsure of what to say to...that. He didn’t do that, right?

 

Did he really make the blond think that all that time nothing had changed for him?

 

“He doesn’t risk anything, especially himself. But he was willing. Does that not register as odd for you? Why would he do that, huh? You can’t think of any reason?”

 

_Th_ at’s true, Kuroo thought, _I was never able to make him do anything he didn't want to_. But put that way, Akaashi brought up a good point. He just said it with a poisonous tongue.

 

"My fucking God, you're so dense," the younger man continued, pacing in a tight circle as his onslaught grew louder, "He probably didn't do anything about your obvious feelings because he's someone who’s rational. And we all know he’s not an optimistic thinker, either, Kuroo. He probably convinced himself not to hold onto hope, no matter how in-your-face your infatuation was. Maybe he just convinced himself that you wouldn't love him back and that he was just seeing what he wanted and not what was really there! Why's he never realized he could do better? God only knows, but to stand by and watch him still be in love with you while you complain and whine that he was going to throw _you_ away—and not the other way around—is ridiculous. I can’t watch this anymore!”

 

_I would never,_ he wanted to say, panic slowly creeping back to his chest, _I would never throw him away._ Why would Tsukishima ever think that? He must have known. He must have, right?

 

Kuroo must have shown him a thousand times over how much the blond meant to him.

 

“And the thing is that we abetted you,” Akaashi continued mercilessly. “Before, we didn’t understand the scope. You were our friend and you were hurting. You had to leave—we understood that,” the younger man motioned between Bokuto and himself, obviously recalling when he had taken a plane abroad, leaving them to pick up the damaged pieces of his and Tsukishima's non-relationship.

 

But in the end, they didn't need to do any damage control. Tsukishima brought it upon himself to break away from their little pack, choosing to make all of Kuroo's friend's less guilty over choosing to stand by the ravenhead's side. Coming back home, Kuroo felt a little grateful for the separation, making the whole thing easier on the bedhead. But he was selfish.

 

And he might not have been the only one hurting.  

 

"So we watched you leave and we still chose your side, thinking that you must have been really torn apart. So we let Tsukishima drift, not knowing better. He's tough, sure but everyone has insecurities! I wish I could go back because thinking about how he must have felt, in your words, expendable not only by you but by _us_ too,” he grieved, yelling at himself as much as Kuroo at this point, “All because we thought that you were right, that he didn’t care. But he’s not apathetic, he’s guarded. And _I discarded him too_ ,” he cried. Akaashi kissed his teeth, shaking his head in remorse, before returning his glare to Kuroo who had long frozen in place.

 

“But you fucked up first! Because no matter what you think, Kuroo, Tsukishima never threw you away. He never said no and he never left. Never looked for anyone else, never bothered anyone else—never strayed from the fucked up leash you somehow convinced him to put on and keep. _You_ were the one who abandoned him first!”

 

Kuroo breathed sharply, his lungs on fire.

 

What has he done?

 

_“And you did it again.”_

 

_What has he done?_

 

“But...he must have known,” Kuroo whispered, his voice fighting for air, “Even if he didn’t want to risk it, he must have known that I would never push him away...I would have never done that, _never_. We were, we were—”

 

 

_“We were never friends, Kuroo-san.”_

 

 

The dark haired man could hear sizzling, his brain frying as it absorbed everything.

 

It was all his fault, all this time.

 

Yes, he knew he had a lot of the blame, but knowing that he was once again the maker of his own demise...it was easier just to think that it was all because Tsukishima would never want him.

 

"You really are an idiot," Akaashi said, grabbing his bottle and finishing its content in one massive gulp ignoring Kuroo as he dropped back to the couch and buried his face in his hands, rubbing them raw on his eyes.

 

“Leave me alone, I feel like trash right now.”

 

“Oh, you are.”

 

“I’m such a garbage person,” Kuroo whined, his words muffled by his palms.“Why am I the worst?”

 

“The world may never know," Akaashi offered, all his steam gone as he settled back into his seat.

 

"Wait…" the two ravenheads turned to Bokuto who was still standing, his head tilting to the side deep in thought. His eyes kept shifting back and forth, his attire made him look even more ridiculous. He then quickly looked to his fiance, "Keiji did you...did you just say that Tsukki was in love with him?"

 

Silence.

 

The sort of silence that exist in a vacuum engulfed the apartment, short-circuiting the older bedhead altogether.

 

A low thump broke the silence, Akaashi having accidentally dropped the empty wine bottle on the rug, the glass not breaking on impact as it rolled to a stop. The younger man didn't seem to notice. Kuroo had focused completely on the former setter, his hair rising at the static charge running through him.

 

Because Bo was right, Akaashi did say that.

 

So busy remembering how he had messed up, Kuroo almost let it slip past him.

 

But he heard it all right, and he needed answers.

 

_Now._

 

Akaashi blinked, focusing on the older men before his face returned to being stoic.

 

"No, I didn't."

 

“Don’t fuck around Akaashi, yes you did!” Kuroo cried, pointing an accusing finger at Akaashi.

 

“I’m not in a state where I am fully aware of what I'm saying,” the younger man deadpanned, keeping his face passive, “I’m drunk, clearly.”

 

“Keighji! You said it!” Bokuto cried out, real tears sliding down his cheeks, “How could you keep this from me?!”

 

("I thought you told each other everything," Kuroo mocked, remembering the words said not too long ago. His voice goes ignored by the ridiculous couple.)

 

“No, Koutarou,” Akaashi scolded, his voice leaving no room for argument, “I don’t feel comfortable breaking Tsukishima’s confidence. Our conversation was private.”

 

“WHAT!?” The older men scream in unison.

 

“...What?” the younger man asked, taken aback by the reaction.

 

“Tsukki told you he loved Kuroo _himself_?!” Bokuto exclaimed, earning a panicked look to spread through the former setter’s face as he flushed bright red.

 

_“God fucking dammit.”_

 

“Spill, baby!”

 

“No,” Akaashi said calmly, picking up the discarded bottle from the floor before continuing, “You know what? This is all a misunderstanding. Yes. A misunderstanding. And you know who we should blame? _The French,”_ he nodded, “Why? Because they make fucking fantastic wine. Wine so fantastic you don’t even realize you’ve drunk the entire bottle until you trip on one. And you know what we all should do? _Have another one and forget we said anything_. Shall I open another bottle and pour us all a glass?” he offered, already trying to beeline to the kitchen.

 

Bokuto blocked his path, arms open and ready to pounce. Akaashi frowned, knowing that in his current state, he'd probably never make it out of the living room.

 

Fuck it.

 

Akaashi tried to jump over the couch, half-tackled by his fiance in the process. They wrestled on the ground—robe riding up to expose Akaashi pale legs as he thrashed under heavy muscles, Bokuto managing to pin him down with ease, his underwear practically useless as it provided no coverage whatsoever. Kuroo watched, not really paying attention since he was completely dumbfounded how the past ten minutes might have just changed his life forever. But it wouldn’t mean shit if he wasn’t certain. And only Akaashi could tell him so.

 

And he would get his answer.

 

_“Sumi-chan,”_ Kuroo said.

 

Kuroo saw the moment that his words registered with Akaashi, the younger man immediately freezing under his fiance. He looked at Kuroo with horror, his eyes bulging at the older man. Bokuto, however, looked lost, unsure of why his fiance and his bro were having an intense staring contest out of nowhere.

 

“I’m lost,” Bokuto said.

 

“Kuroo," Akaashi whispered, a pleading look in his eye, “Please. I can’t tell you.”

 

“You have to, I am cashing in your promise. I want my boon.”

 

“Kuroo, _no.”_

 

“You don’t have a choice! You shouldn't have run over my cat! _Shouldn’t have run over my Sumi-chan!!”_

 

Ah, yes. _Sumi-chan._ A gorgeous tabby cat with the softest fur and the cutest meow that a young Kuroo had adopted when he was fifteen years old. His grandmother had paid for her as a gift to her grandson (to help with the...difficult time he was having. He needed something to take his mind off of everything), and Kuroo saw it fit to name it after the gentle old woman. The lovely furball was friendly and wild, jumping from shelves to bookcases all through his father's house, driving the elder Kuroo crazy with her aerodynamics. Plus, Kenma really liked her, so she officially became part of the family.

 

But with beauty comes consequences, and her fault was that she was incredibly _stupid_. But she was cute, so Kuroo figured it would be alright.

 

Then, one time during the end of his sophomore year of college, he decided to bring her to his shared apartment off campus for the week. He wanted to introduce her to Kei when he came to Tokyo for a mini vacation during his winter break.

 

She immediately took a liking to the tall blond, rubbing herself against his ankles all week long, practically stealing all of Kei’s attention as the taller boy would pick her up and spoil her to no end, much to Kuroo’s delight (and jealousy).

 

Then, the night before he was going to return his beloved pet home, he had invited some of his friends over to his place. Including the couple of the hour, Bokuto and Akaashi. However, before the couple arrived, Sumi-chan had managed to escape the apartment through a window, wondering the streets nearby. Like the dumbass she was.

 

The moment Tsukki noticed she was gone, they went out searching for her, hoping she had not traveled too far. When the blond yelled that he spotted her in the middle of the road, Kuroo cried in joy. There she was, sitting pretty and still along the pavement. However, a moment later Kuroo saw the headlights of a car approaching her at high speed, a familiar car. Kuroo tried to yell at Akaashi to slow down, for surely the man would have noticed Sumi-chan long before he got too close.

 

Or he would have if his head wasn’t tilted up and eyes not even close to staying on the road. Then next thing he knew, Sumi-chan was soaring as Akaashi drove her down, her mangy body flying on impact and scaring Akaashi enough for him to stomp on the breaks...and for Bokuto’s head to hit the steering wheel from his boyfriend’s lap.

 

It was a day that Kuroo didn’t like to dwell on, the horror of his beautiful _but stupid_ cat’s mangled body laid limp in his arms, as Akaashi—completely horrified—asked if there was anything he could do to make it up to his distraught friend.

 

And payment was finally due.

 

“I am still so very sorry,” Akaashi said, slowly getting up from Bokuto grasp, walking back to Kuroo with his hand’s up in surrender, “but please. I can’t tell you.”

 

“I need to know, Akaashi. _Sumi-chan would have wanted you to tell me.”_

 

“You’ll only feel worse about yourself,” Akaashi informed, guilt still painted over his face.

 

“Come on, babe!” Bokuto encouraged, “For Sumi-chan!”

 

"Shut it, that was your fault too!" Akaashi hissed at his fiance, before turning back to Kuroo who stood there in wait, knowing that the former setter would give in. A defeated sigh escaped the younger man.

 

“Let’s just say that it might be fair to assume...that Tsukishima’s feelings might be more than just acquaintanceship.”

 

“Akaashi. I think that Sumi-chan's short but beautiful life is worth more than just assumptions. Yes?" Kuroo nudged, earning a half-assed glare from the younger man. "Come on, now. For Sumi-chan. She'd want you to do this for me."

 

The dark haired man’s eyes didn’t waver as Akaashi challenged him again, keeping contact as smokey grey bored into his soul. He would cave, Kuroo knew he would. Again, he heard the sound of victory as Akaashi groaned in defeat.

 

“Fine… he has feelings for you.”

 

“Sumi-chan wants specifics.”

 

"No, she doesn't." Kuroo pouted at the former setter's dismissal.

 

“Are you seriously going to tell me what she does and does not want? I don’t think she would contact you from the afterlife, seeing as you’re a _murderer.”_ Akaashi’s left eye twitched (and Bokuto let out a low _‘Ooooooh’),_ gritting his teeth.

 

"Well, if you really want specifics, fine. Seeing as you still don't get it without having to bring up the ghost of your dead cat, I'll tell you. Your little proposal? He only agreed because he already liked you, you fucking idiot. Is Sumi-chan satisfied with that?”

 

“Since when?” Bokuto interjected before Kuroo could defend his precious cat ( _may she rest in peace in cat heaven, eating catnip and destroying furniture to her heart’s content_ ) from Akaashi’s mockery. The younger fiance then smirked, looking like he was trying hard not to smile.

 

“Honestly, it was cute watching him blush when we first met him in training camp. Started around then, probably.”

 

Then there went Kuroo's brain again, short-circuiting once more.

 

“Akaashi, what the fuck! How could you not have said anything?” Kuroo boomed.

 

“Hey, this is still all your fault. What would you do if your crush started to give you attention, only to realize there was no hope?” Akaashi said, poking his chest roughly at the accusing tone, “You strung him along. It wasn’t my place to say anything.”

 

“Fine,” Kuroo huffed, “but you're certain that he still feels the same for me?”

 

“Seeing as we only had this conversation after New Years, yeah. I think it's safe to assume.”

 

“That wasn't even two months ago!” Kuroo cried, “You could have let me know before I went and ruined everything!”

 

“That was entirely your fault, too,” Akaashi grumbled.

 

“Still you could have given Kuroo some hints,” Bokuto shrugged, chastising his fiance, “Or, ya’ know, not run over his cat, at least.”

 

As Akaashi started to claw at his future husband's face, seething that it was all his fault for getting too handsy, Kuroo just stood there, letting it all sink in.

 

God, he was so stupid.

 

How could he not have seen it all before?

 

The glances—honey-gold eyes so piercing, forcing Kuroo to meet his gaze every time.

 

The blushes—velvet pink and incredibly bright against Kei's light skin, sending him spiraling when the blond would try to turn away in embarrassment, unaware that the blush had spread to his ears whenever Kuroo would compliment him, or be overly affectionate, or when he said something corny.

 

Those moments—those times that the younger boy looked like he wanted to say something to Kuroo.

 

He would look at the older man’s eyes and the ravenhead could tell that the blond was thinking too hard and convincing himself to not saying what he wanted to. Instead, he’d say something else, as Kuroo kept his own words in his heart to himself.

 

What if he had just leapt in first, said something first? Maybe he could have saved them. Instead, he let Tsukishima dance around his self-doubt and Kuroo stayed silent.

 

_“You should save all your dumb lines for someone you actually like, idiot.”_

 

But I like you.

 

_“I’m not upset. It’s nothing you should burden yourself with.”_

 

Let me comfort you.

 

_"It's fine if you're busy, really. I don't want to take up any more of your time."_

 

I have plenty of time for you.

 

_"Don't you get bored just hanging out with me? I'm not that great..."_

 

You’re my favorite person.

 

_"What I want in five years..." he wondered, closing his eyes as he thought it over, Kuroo waiting patiently as he tried to count all the lashes like blades of grass on the younger man's eyes. Then they opened, a sea of molten gold shining bright, "I guess, I would want some sort of answer...to something I've been wondering for a long time..."_

 

Do you see me in your future?

 

_“Why would you leave?”_

 

Because I can’t stay if you don’t love me back.

 

_“I guess...it’s for the best.”_

 

Is it?

 

_"It doesn't make sense for this to go on. You're leaving anyway. Let's end this."_

 

Ask me to stay, _he wanted to cry_ , Ask me to stay for you.

 

They had crossed a line a long time ago, but pretended that nothing had changed. And it had cost them and had inflicted pain that both were responsible for. And Kuroo couldn't believe that he never saw it—the insecurity, the caution, the incredible burden that the blond must have shouldered thinking that Kuroo didn't want him.

 

And yet, he still had feelings all this time for Kuroo despite him constantly rejecting Tsukki. Somehow, Kuroo still had hope.

 

He's done waiting for another opportunity to slip by.

 

“Akaashi,” the ravenhead said, getting a hold of the couple’s attention.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do I have a chance?”

 

Akaashi just stood there, saying nothing as he looked at Kuroo with a softer expression. Bokuto hooted.

 

“Bro, that’s totally a yes!” Bokuto hollered, throwing his arms up in excitement.

 

And he smiled, joy bringing colour back to his cheeks after weeks of turning a sullen grey. Tonight...has changed everything.

 

Because even though he’s scum, Tsukishima loves him. So tonight was beautiful.

 

Tsukishima wasn’t just Tsukishima afterall—he was still Tsukki, still _Kei._

 

And throughout everything, Tsukki was the one who asked him to come over, to stay the night, to stick around in the morning. And through it all, Kei still held out hope.

 

_And God,_ he was so beautiful.

 

And Kuroo was done running away. This time, he was running forward.

 

He turned to the front door, long legs climbing over the couch to get there faster. Next thing he knew, his face met the rug as he fell hard, the pillow that hit the back of his head bouncing off to the side.

 

“You can’t just go running to him though, idiot! You don’t have that right, especially with what you just did to him!” Akaashi fumed, the most ridiculous face gracing his features as he cursed to the heavens for making him deal with such stupidity on a daily basis before turning back to Kuroo, who was sitting on the ground rubbing the back of his head to ease the pain. “He was honestly reaching out and putting himself in harm's way because for some reason, you’re still...something to him.”

 

“But then what should I do?”

 

(“Wash your hair?” Bokuto suggested, his words going selectively unheard by the two ravenheads.)

 

Akaashi huffed, shaking his head and crossing his arms before, once again, sighing in defeat.

 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this _”_ — _wow, he actually looks physically pained_ —“Kuroo...would you like my help?”

 

“Really?" Both Kuroo and Bokuto beamed, starts shining in their eyes at the generous deity that was Akaashi Keiji. _(Oh, how they would worship him—the monuments they will build!)_

 

“I’m meeting him later this week,” the former setter said, “Would you like me to...I don’t know, test the waters?”

 

“You’d do that for me?” Kuroo asked, tears brimming his eyes at the benevolent offer.

 

“I’d do it for him mostly,” he clarified, a traitorous smile slowly forming across his face, “but yes, you too. Because even though you keep fucking up and hurting him...you're my friend. And lord knows what will happen if I allow you both to go unsupervised in your guy’s messed up dilemma.”

 

“Woo!” Bokuto screeched, “Alright! Let’s do this! Mission: _Get Kuroo and Tsukki to get their heads outta their asses and get together_ is a go!” he proclaimed, sharing a high-five with his best bro who was totally on board with the mission in hand. Akaashi rolled his eyes.

 

“But you have to promise that you’re going to do this the right way this time, Kuroo,” the younger man warned, “I mean it. You have to do right by him.”

All Kuroo’s ever wanted was to do right by him.

 

All he’s wanted was to move forward with him. Be with him. That strange grip in his heart, usually painful and suffocating, gently eased up. Letting go of his fears and cradling his love instead. He was done looking back.

 

Kuroo was confident that he’d do right this time around.

 

Tsu—Kei had been waiting long enough.

 

“Yes, I promise,” he smiled, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

 

* * *

 

**Next Chapter: Chance**

 

Hanamaki, Daichi, Yamaguchi, Sugawara, Tsukishima, Yachi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect the hate mail and threats to my life in my letter box. I totally deserve it. But now progress can ensue and we got a lot of things rolling! I had a lot of different reactions as I was writing each section, completely throwing off my groove once in awhile, but overall happy with how they each turned out. I won’t go into details, but here’s the overall gist of what was going through my head as I wrote them each: 
> 
> Tsukishima:  
> Damn, that could have gone better. 
> 
> Hinata:  
> He’s is so sorry! I hope it all works out!
> 
> Oikawa:  
> Ignore the haters!! Do you, baby!
> 
> Kenma:  
> I know you’re nervous but it’ll be okay.  
> It’s fine, it’s fine  
> It’s fine, it-OH NO  
> NO KENMA  
> ABORT  
> ABORT!!!  
> NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
> NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
> NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> Kiyoko:  
> Hell yeah, girl’s night!  
> Wait, what’s this?  
> (shook)
> 
> Kuroo:  
> FINALLY.
> 
>  
> 
> I’m so excited for the next chapter, you guys. In fact, the next couple of chapters are just going to be so fun to write that hopefully it won’t take me so long this time round. Not to mention there’ll be a short time skip in the near future and I’ll let you know which chapter when I post. Be warned, I'll probably be updating the tags as well, and that's coming up within the next chapter or two, so keep an eye out. I’d still love to hear your reactions too and any comments, even if it’s to give me a piece of your mind, all are welcomed! Till next chapter!
> 
> ~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Kudos~ (and all that good stuff.)
> 
> ~The Hive in June~


	9. Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I promised not to take half a year to update again?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah...that didn’t happen.
> 
> Maybe I jinxed myself, or something, because the last few months got away from me. Blocks certainly didn’t help, and my RL helped even less. A small part of me does marvel over the fact that it took 7+ months to write a chapter that takes place over the course of one day. I digress. But hey, at least it’s another long one! So there’s that.
> 
> A lot of the progress from the last chapter is still rolling, but— 
> 
> This chapter brings something new into the picture: Complications.
> 
> That’s all the warning I choose to give. Good luck and proceed with caution. 
> 
> Shout out to my BETA: (m_ _)m bubblesandwich m(_ _m)  
> She’s da best, you guys. Seriously. 
> 
>  Anyways, here it is:  
> The Bachelor - Haikyuu Edition.
> 
>  
> 
> jk. jk.
> 
>  
> 
> Kinda.
> 
> Enjoy!!

**_Spite & Dogma_ **

 

_Chapter 1: Certainty_

_Chapter 2: Caution_

_Chapter 3: Concessions_

_Chapter 4: Comforts_

_Chapter 5: Concurrence_

_Chapter 6: Conviction_

_Chapter 7: Consequences_

_Chapter 8: Confident_

**Chapter 9: Chance**

 

_Of second chances_

_And chance meetings_

* * *

 

 

**_February 6_ **

 

 

 

**Hanamaki**

 

 

 

_Dear Universal Lord Flying Spaghetti Monster, and any other deities who just so happen to be listening in:_

 

_What have I done in this life to deserve such idiot friends?_

 

_Hmm? What's up, Gods? Why you gotta do me dirty like that?_

 

 _I've never given any reason to be so wronged in this lifetime. This is some straight up bullshit. My sanity is not yours to toy with. I call shenanigans on you. Yeah,_ all of you _are responsible for my suffering. Expect no prayers, offerings, or love from me. When something good happens, y’all aren’t gonna get any Takahiro edition Blow Kisses to heav’ns above no more. Y’all wronged me hard, and y’all shall reap what y'all sowed._

 

_Bye, Felicia._

 

The light haired ginger took a deep breath, calming his inner thoughts from cursing another otherworldly being to blame for his current plight. However, if you asked him, his arbitrary blaming was completely justified.  _ JUSTIFIED _ . His current circumstances were just unfair.

 

Completely, totally, _unbearably_ unfair.

 

Hanamaki Takahiro was an all-around good person, okay.

 

He really was. He worked hard and was good at his job (Who turned in his analysis report early? Oh, yeah, that’s right, _he did_. Who achieved their quarter quota in a matter of weeks? Right again; _he did_. Who showed Ueda Kichirou up when he got the promotion with a corner office? _He did_ —suck it, _Shit_ chirou), he was an involved and helpful neighbor (Extra sugar? You betcha, sweetie. Toilet backed up? He's on that shit. The old lady down in apartment D71 needs a strapping shirtless young man to help redownload her facebook messenger app again? Baby, _best believe_ he’s got it), and he was on top of the list of best boyfriends in the world (He’s got Issei eating his heart out like he’s eating this ass). He was all this _and more,_ and yet, the strawberry blond still could not fathom why he’s been wronged with friends who seemed to never get their shit together.

 

The question of a lifetime:

 

What great atrocity had he committed in his past life to make the Fates think he deserved to deal with the fucking mess that was Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru?

 

It just made no sense. He was supposed be enjoying himself at the hospital mixer where all of Matsukawa’s colleagues were gathered to mingle, and instead of charming the pants off his boyfriend’s coworkers he was on babysitting duty. 

 

And boy, Iwaizumi was being one big fucking baby. 

 

Hanamaki was currently standing at one of the bars, eagerly waiting for the three drinks he ordered; two beers for his two dates and one hard drink for himself—hopefully, filled with lots of gin and the strength to get through this night without strangling someone. 

 

When the bartender finally handed him his drinks, Hanamaki thanked the man and carefully balanced them in his hands, making his way back to his boys. His dates were at the edge of the hospital's courtyard—a large area surrounded by gardens and benches, usually an area for patients and guests to relax in when allowed but currently used as the venue for today's party. He maneuvered passed doctors and nurses, occasionally nodding to a familiar face or two before finally catching sight of Matsukawa Issei, his boyfriend of almost a decade, standing under a neatly trimmed tree with two interns talking animatedly. And then a few feet away, a sour looking Iwaizumi slumped on a wooden bench beside them. Reaching the small group, Hanamaki smiled politely and introduced himself to the younger interns, handing his boyfriend his drink before excusing himself to go sit next to the sulking physician. 

 

Iwaizumi accepted his beer with a lackluster nod, grabbing the glass with heavily bandaged hands and slowly took a sip. Hanamaki sipped from his own glass, wishing the awkwardness would simply disappear and some sense of normalcy would return. Seeing as it’s been over a week since the news about  _ the incident _ had gotten out he would think that Iwaizumi would have gotten over the shock of it all by now. Things hadn’t gone down that way at all. 

 

The day after he and Issei had gone over to their friend’s house to check up on him (and unfortunately witnessed how upset he really was) his boyfriend had texted him while on his shift, telling him that Iwaizumi had hurt himself. It took him all but fifteen minutes to put on some sweatpants and teleported over to the hospital, running down nurses and patients alike on his way to his boyfriend’s office where Matsukawa was wrapping up Iwaizumi’s hands—bruised violet and swollen, flinching every time his boyfriend shifted the bandage along the broken skin. 

 

They’ve been keeping an eye on him ever since—which has been annoying for  _ both _ parties involved. Iwaizumi would complain every other hour that the couple didn’t know how to mind their own business. All the while, he and Issei wanted to rip their hair out whenever he refused to talk about Oikawa. 

 

Again— _ it’s been an entire week! _

 

To be fair, this has to be hard for the former Seijoh ace. Oikawa’s secret relationship with Ushijima—of all people—was a shock to everyone, sure, but it must have been more than that to Iwaizumi. 

 

He felt betrayed. 

 

Or at least Makki thought Iwaizumi felt betrayed. He assumed as much. 

 

You see, it’d be easier to deal with if Iwaizumi  _ would actually talk to them about how he was feeling _ instead of being an emotional Scrooge with furrowed brows who only replied in low grunts like some emotionally constipated ape. But getting Iwaizumi to do anything he didn’t want to do was like pulling teeth. From a rabid, emotionally constipated animal.

 

Both he and Issei just wanted Iwaizumi to do something other than pretend that the news wasn’t significant to him—let alone existed—at all. But they knew better than to push him too far. They didn’t want a repeat of his last episode. The day Iwaizumi went into work injured, Matsukawa and he had agreed that their temperamental friend was going to stay with them for a while, at least till things cooled down. And when Hanamaki had shown up to Iwaizumi’s house to grab a few things for him, he was beyond stunned. He had heard the damage from beyond the front door but seeing the apartment in nothing but shambles rendered him speechless. 

 

Hanamaki had seen the destruction first hand and yet Iwaizumi still clicked his tongue at them and argued that _ ‘he was just fine _ '...which was bullshit. No one is fine when the love of their life finds happiness somewhere else. Not even someone as strong-willed as Iwaizumi. 

 

But, c’mon! You have to understand Hanamaki’s frustration; here he was, trying to be a good, supportive,  _ incredibly patient  _ friend to someone who was doing nothing but avoiding the reality of his situation. The only recollection of Iwaizumi admitting to being upset about anything was when he complained that he wasn't allowed to work with his injured hands for the next few weeks. They couldn't even  _ mention  _ Oikawa's name without Iwaizumi finding an excuse to leave the room. His other best friend's name has now become a taboo. 

 

Ridiculous, right!? 

 

He and Issei have been walking on eggshells for a week and Iwaizumi still hasn’t shown signs of feeling even a little better. So now, the strawberry blond has been thinking of a new game plan, but he’s not sure when to change course from  _ understanding-friend-who-gives-plenty-of-space _ to  _ overbearing-friend-who-makes-his-friend-deal-with-his-problems-head-on-whether-he-likes-it-or-not _ . 

 

With the shorter, brawny man making no attempts to enjoy himself, Hanamaki sighed heavily, watching Iwaizumi’s  eyes dart to the exit every few seconds, probably trying to figure out how to ditch the party. 

 

Running interference at every turn was exhausting, for sure. But he’ll endure, he supposed. Why? Well, honestly, Hanamaki is new to this whole situation: to  _ Iwaizumi  _ being the one who needs support and comfort. It’s usually Oikawa who needs some extra attention and coddling. But the tables have turned and now it’s Iwaizumi who’s taking things hard and just wants to close in around himself. 

 

And Hanamaki wasn't about to let him go there. That’s just not what the greatest friend in the world lets you do to yourself, ya’ feel.  

 

"Babe told me you were pretty popular, dude. Why don't you go talk to some of your friends?" the rosy-haired man smiled, lifting his glass towards the rest of the celebration. Maybe some socializing might do his killjoy attitude some good. "That'd be nice, yeah? We'll be here if you need us."

 

Iwaizumi turned to him, unamused as he replied haughtily.

 

“What are you— _ my mom?” _

 

Yup, one big  _ fucking baby _ . 

 

Hanamaki forced a smile as he gripped his glass with new vigor, wishing the drink would be as fleshy and pliant as he would imagine Iwaizumi’s throat. He exhaled slowly, calming himself from opening a can of whoop-ass on the brooding piece of shit next to him. 

 

But— 

 

You know what? 

 

He doesn’t have to deal with this—he really doesn’t. 

 

Hanamaki could very well tell Iwaizumi to go fuck himself and actually enjoy being his boyfriend's arm candy at the party. He could very much do that—that sounds like a way better use of his time. And he probably would have done that if not for Iwaizumi freezing as his eyes darted to a pretty brunet who had just walked through the door. Turning, the strawberry blond froze too. 

 

Tall and well filled out, a light haired man in a silk suit eased into the party. Hanamaki had an itch to call over Issei to put Iwaizumi in a headlock so he could be free to sprint to the entrance and go all Jackie Chan on the pretty boy who thought it was  _ a brilliant fucking idea _ to just show up.

 

Really bitch? You’re really gonna show up and do this to completely-over-your-shit Hanamaki Takahiro?  _ I think the fuck not!!! _

 

Hanamaki was ready to freaking  _ mow  _ the good looking idiot down as the man turned his head— 

 

Wait…

 

Nope. False alarm— _ not Oikawa _ . 

 

Thank fuck.

 

Hanamaki visibly relaxed, breathing easy and very much catching Iwaizumi as he took in a long, heavy breath, also realizing that his best friend had not just walked through the doors. God, their ‘friendship’ was really just one big headache. 

 

Honestly, they have been a pain since the very beginning—since he had first met the pair. Did you know that both Iwaizumi and Oikawa had first introduced themselves to Hanamaki together? (No, not ‘together’ as in the same time—but as a freakin’ unit. Yeah, that happened.) 

 

_ (“Hi there! We’re Oikawa and Iwa-chan, nice to meet you!” _

 

_ “At least give my actual name, Shittykawa!”) _

 

That introduction was basically all he needed to know about their dynamic. And years later, it still held true. They were still so weirdly in sync that Hanamaki had to stop himself from rolling his eyes every freakin' time Oikawa and Iwaizumi danced around their obvious feelings for each other.  

 

He and Issei made bets every year since they’re dramatic breakup in high school on how long it would take to get them to get back together. And to the couple’s annoyance, the infuriating duo never did. And every year they would renew their bet. This year, Hanamaki had given the couple less than two months till he thought they’d  _ finally _ reunite in a PDA-infested eyesore of a get-together.

 

He was  _ so _ confident, in fact, that he had bet Issei that they’d get together before February—on his birthday, to be exact. And though there was some tension between the former setter and his ace, it was not of the sexual kind. Or the romantic kind. It was just plain awkward. And the next day, not only had his wallet took a beating, but so did his foolish friends. 

 

And Hanamaki has had enough of this bullshit.

 

“You can’t keep this up. You know that, right?” Hanamaki was done beating around the bush with Iwaizumi. The shorter man looked at him, jaw tightening and eyes hardening at his words. They both knew what the strawberry blond meant—as vague as it was, and they both knew it was true. 

 

“What are you talking about?” the physician replied. The taller man huffed in annoyance, taking a sip from his glass before he convinced himself to shove it down Iwaizumi’s throat. 

 

“Don’t be a pain, Hajime.”

 

“I’m an adult, you know.”

 

“An adult who's completely useless when it comes to  _ he who must not be named _ ,” Hanamaki air quoted, dropping his voice down an octave for dramatic effect. 

 

“Voldemort?”

 

“I swear, I’m gonna hit you. No, not fucking Voldemort, you idiot.”

 

“Then I don’t know who you mean.”

 

_ “You really wanna die?” _ Hanamaki all but hissed at him. 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Iwaizumi barked, turning away again, “I'm fine.”

 

“Jesus, just who are you trying to convince? Huh?” The taller man was losing all patience with this idiot, “Because you aren’t fooling anybody. Never have, either.”

 

The other man said nothing, just kept his eyes away from Hanamaki. Avoidance was never his forte but this past week (hell, probably even longer than that) must have really been an educational experience for him. If his hands weren’t bandaged like a mummy, Hanamaki was sure that he’d be clenching his fist to the bone. 

 

This had really gone too far. 

 

“You know what,” Hanamaki sighed, voice heavy with untaken advice and underappreciation, “you do whatever you want...That’s what you’ve always done.” 

 

“Don’t worry, I will.”

 

“Yes, because that’s worked out  _ so well _ for you, hasn’t it?”

 

He regretted it the moment it came out. Bringing up the past wasn’t going to help anybody (no matter how satisfying it was to watch Iwaizumi’s eyes widen in surprise from his profile). Hanamaki was just frustrated. Mostly out of exasperation, because he was certain if the two idiots (who happened to be giving him premature grey hairs) would just  _ freakin' talk to one another about their obvious mutual feelings instead of just assuming what the other wanted _ , most of their issues would disappear. But,  _ noooooooo _ . Leave it to these two to make everything so much harder—not only for themselves but for their friends. What a pair of headaches.  

 

“Sorry...”

 

"I know," Iwaizumi mumbled, pretending to thoroughly examine the bustling party as he cleared his throat, still intent on looking anywhere but Hanamaki. "You should go walk around with Mattsun, enjoy the party." That was as clear of a dismissal as he was going to give. The strawberry blond sighed again, figuring he shouldn't push him more. 

 

But he couldn't help it sometimes. 

 

“Fine. But let me say this,” he huffed, exasperated, putting his drink down to fix his tie.  Iwaizumi finally looked back at him, begrudgingly waiting for him to finish so he could be left in peace. 

“You pushing people away is exactly why he’s with him and not you” 

 

Hanamaki knew that even if he didn’t mean to sting with those words, they would still hurt to hear. Especially for someone like Iwaizumi.

 

But they still needed to be said. The burly man’s frown deepened, turning from Hanamaki to glare at his hands—swathed and constricted, the wrapping turning damp from holding the sweating glass for too long. He needed Iwaizumi to understand that the flamboyant setter, who always seemed to be the one to cause trouble, wasn't to blame this time around. 

 

“You might be hurting...but he’s still your best friend. And that comes first.”

 

Hanamaki stood, stalling a moment longer before his finishing blow. 

 

“You have no right to be upset that he might have found happiness in someone else.”

 

And with that, he left to find his man. He didn’t even look back. Iwaizumi wanted to be alone so badly, so be it. Maybe the solitude would give him time to think over the knowledge that Hanamaki had just bestowed on him. When he finally found Issei, his boyfriend gave a worried frown, looking over his shoulder to where he was sitting with their friend before. 

 

“So?” The raven asked, wondering how delicate the situation was. Hanamaki wished he had better news to share. 

 

“We probably have to pull out the big guns,” Makki brought his drink to his lips, finishing off the glass, “I think it’s time.”

 

“Intervention?”

  
“ _ Intervention. _ ”

 

**Daichi**

 

 

The mixer was pretty neato, Daichi had to admit. The food was good and the service was impressive. The courtyard had minimal decor that allowed the party to hold an air of sophistication as doctors, nurses, students, board members, visitors, and all enjoyed themselves amongst the splendor. The guest list was diverse enough, but there was definitely a major difference between two sets of guests.

 

First were the grandpas. There were a bunch of old farts around, smirking and sneering their crusty jowls amongst the fellow accomplished elderly, each one more than likely responsible for creating some sort of ingenious technique that immortalized their names in medical books for years to come. If they didn’t fall into the medical field, they were sure to be successful businessmen, possibly investors or capitalists, who had interest in the hospital's success. They all had on wool blend suits that cost more than Daichi’s monthly rent and had an uppity perfume drifting around each group of relics.

 

Then there was the rest of the guests: the youngsters. They wore casual suits and sportcoats over t-shirts. Younger medics with edgier attitudes, ready to make a name for themselves. They were bolder and sharp, persistently networking with the best around the party.

 

Then there was Daichi, caught in between a rock and a hard place.

 

Now, Sawamura was raised with manners—his mother sought to that—but he was seriously wondering how important manners truly were now that he was stuck talking to possibly the most boring, damp-towel of an oral surgeon he's ever met (all he remembered was catching sight of Tsukishima, his former teammate and underclassmen, going up to him to say a brief hello only for the blond to dump the _seemingly_ nice doctor he was previously talking to on Daichi—that little punk). He had been trying to find a way out of his conversation for the last ten minutes, looking around for his beautiful, endearing, lovely husband (who would most certainly help him out of is current predicament... hopefully).

 

The former captain made sure to keep a pleasant smile on for the oral surgeon while his eyes wandered around the party, searching eagerly for ash locks and warm eyes. After what seemed like a four-year long graphic epic (about that one time the oral surgeon encountered a wisdom tooth extraction with a hook-shaped root and had to anesthetize his patients 6 times before finally resorting to general anesthesia) he finally caught a glimpse of his husband by the cheese bar, talking to some friends of theirs, Matsukawa and Hanamaki. They were likely discussing what to do about the sulking mess of a physician brooding by a corner somewhere. When he really focused, however, he could see the trio sneakily send him looks of mockery, covering their mouths as they poorly hid their gigging. He might have been peeved if not for how amazing Suga's ass looked in his dress pants.

 

Daichi felt his cheeks warm, frustration now creeping up next to the annoyance for his company.

 

Sawamura's husband looked great in everything. It was a given. He looked great in sweats, scrubs, pajamas, tuxes, most Halloween costumes, and even those god awful paper gowns they make you wear at the doctors for your checkup. To Daichi, Suga was an angel amongst men, but there were a few exceptions to the things that his silver-haired husband could pull off. He didn't particularly look good in yellow, and he always seemed to look silly on baseball caps. But Daichi really didn't like to see his husband in a forced smile.

 

A forced smile was never a good look on Suga. Even in those _glorious pants_ , the fair-haired nurse wasn’t looking like the million bucks that Daichi knew he could pull off on a regular basis. The dark haired man only had himself to blame for his husband being too stressed out to even put himself together.

 

Guilt rushed into his gut remembering the last few weeks. For the record, he never thought that they'd have a perfect relationship without fights or issues for the rest of their lives. He knew no perfect relationship existed, but he wasn't aware that they could ever venture into what felt like free fall.

 

They weren't fighting exactly, but they weren't not-fighting, either. They just _were_. Not the sort of boring in-between that most couples feel after years of the same routine, but in an uncomfortable silent sort of tension. Their days filled with cautious conversations. They had even spoken about the weather the other day before Suga made a grand exit to his graveyard shift, for Pete’s sake.

 

Daichi wished he could take back what started it all. God, he was so stupid. To think, he's known Suga all his young adult life, you would assume that he might have had a better grip on his fair-haired lover's opinion to having children. It just seemed like the obvious next step, a step that he himself was eager to rise up to.

 

The brunet had always dreamt of a big family and when he met Suga he finally realized how it felt to have a soulmate that was perfect in every way. He figured that things would always work themselves out—he was still shrouded in the fairytale of his relationship to realize that Suga wasn’t a perfect manifestation made only for his own wants and needs. Suga had goals, doubts, faults, and preferences of his own. His husband was his own person who had every right to differ in opinion from Daichi. Sometimes he lost himself in his partnership to remember that they were individuals first.

 

The question that’s been keeping him from fully resolving the tension between him and the nurse is if he was really willing to give up on the idea of children indefinitely. It clouded his mind since they had tried to discuss it weeks ago. Daichi hasn’t been able to get through an entire class period at work without wondering if having children was worth temporarily straining his relationship.

 

His husband was everything to him and he was willing to do anything for him. _Anything_. He came to Suga’s work mixer at the hospital, didn’t he? He had to make small talk with strangers and pretend to be interested...like the doctor currently educating Daichi about his interests in canned spreads—

 

“But you see, the ratio of fruit portions inside the actual spreads differ," the oral surgeon drawled, "For example, jelly has 0-10 fruit percentage while jams, on the other hand, could range quite a percentage of fruit portions within. Preserves, of course, has the highest percentage."

 

—and Daichi nodded as he droned on, trying to act polite because there was no suffering that Daichi wouldn’t endure to make his husband happy. But was he willing to sacrifice his own happiness?

 

Kids were always a part of his life plan. There was never a doubt in his mind that he wanted to have, raise, and love a growing family. Could he really be happy without children to call his own? Daichi stole another glance at his husband and friends, swallowing a groan in frustration.

 

He just wanted out of this conversation and to be by Suga’s side. And to wrap his arms around his love, and to kiss him, and bite him, and rip off those amazingly teasing pants off and find some deserted break room like when Suga was still an intern and just devour—

 

Daichi cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he willed the images to leave his brain for the umpteenth time today. Another sucky thing about long, unbearable fights with your lover that no one ever talks about? The stalemate.

 

He was not used to going this long without his much needed Suga-time. A few days at most, but never weeks. He didn't know how others did it. What's worse is that the dilemma has been building, and building, and _building_ and he's pretty certain that he might just full on attack Suga if he so much as glimpsed at a sliver of skin. The teacher wanted to just kick himself for letting everything get so out of hand. He would have whimpered if he wasn't so stubborn. He'll fix this. He has to.

 

His marriage and his sex life might depend on it.

 

“What’s common, however, is when people misinterpret the texture of a jam and a preserve. The trick to knowing the difference is—”

 

“Sorry,” Daichi interrupted, “but I think Suga might be wondering where I am. I should probably go find him...”

 

“Ah, of course. Please, don’t let me keep you waiting. I’m sure Sugawara-san would be most curious to where you are.”

 

“Yeah—”

 

"If I recall," the oral surgeon interrupted before Daichi could make his escape, "Sugawara has a jelly preference—light sweetness and enjoys plum flavors from the western Chugoku region. Interesting taste, very sophisticated palette, if I may be so bold," he continued, unbeknownst to the other man's disinterest.

 

Daichi just forced his smile and walked away, figuring that being rude was a better alternative to being caught in the other man’s conversation (who was still going on a tangent about his opinion of peach preserves in each region) a moment longer. He knew that his decision was justified when he finally approached his husband and friends, their faces failing to hide their amusement to his suffering. Once he arrived, Matsukawa spoke.

 

“Honestly man, you lasted longer than most.”

 

"Not sure if that's supposed to be funny or sad," he replied, sliding right next to his husband who almost managed to look completely at ease next to him. Almost. Daichi, however, saw him shift his body away, facing Hanamaki instead of him, his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders lifted by a margin. Daichi understood that the discomfort wasn't entirely the proximity between the couple but Suga's own way of giving Daichi the space he thought the brunet needed.

 

He didn’t need space— _fuck space_. What he needed was his husband to talk to him about something other than work and the new neighbors downstairs. What he wanted was to go back to being normal and honest and fun. Yes, they were in a rift, but it wasn't going to go away with avoidance of the topic and neglecting their marriage because they wanted different things. They were stronger than this. If anyone was going to get past a fight like this, it was them. And if Daichi had to be the one to make the first move, he was more than ready.

 

“So, which interns were to blame for the whole ‘broccoli fiasco’ that no one is allowed to speak of ever?” he asked.

 

He hoped that he could move to a neutral conversation point that both he and his husband could coast through so they’re friends wouldn’t pick up on anything. What he wasn’t expecting was the jab to the gut that Suga had been quick to give.

 

“We shall not speak of such blasphemy, Sawamura Daichi,” he disapproved.

 

The darker haired male winced at the sharp momentary pain as he looked at his other half. Suga’s face was marble, cold and unmoving for a second longer, before he broke into a small smile, silently laughing at his foolish husband whose heart was running a million miles a minute. Daichi would have patted himself on the back if he wasn’t in pain. _Success_!

 

“Besides,” Koushi adds, “the kids who did it are on paperwork duty and rounds today while we’re enjoying the party. Tomorrow, they’re going back to scrubbing bedpans.”

 

“You’re too cruel, Sugawara,” Matsukawa laughed, his concern for said bedpan-scrubbing-interns unconvincing to the rest of the group.

 

"Those little runts should have thought of that before I got involved," the fair-haired beauty smirked, pride heavy on his voice that his discipline was adequate. Hanamaki agreed with his boyfriend, commenting how Suga must be terrifying at home, earning a head scratch from Daichi. Matsukawa nodded.

 

"You'll have to watch out, Sawamura," the taller raven advised before adding, "though, your husband's intimidation skills might come in handy when you guys get little rascals of your own soon."

 

Daichi almost choked on his own bad luck. Almost. Suga however, did choke on his spit. Violently. Then, when Daichi tried to pat his husband’s back between his shoulder blades, he felt Suga tense underneath his hands before he pushed him away, coughing lowly as he tried to calm down. Not the best reaction. But hey, could have been worse; Suga could have thrown up, Daichi thought.

 

Boom, bright side found.

 

The educator took a step away from Suga, instead, turning his head to their friends, their wide eyes still filled with mild shock and confusion. Daichi tried his best to pull off a smile. He knew he was failing. The brunet felt dread when he saw Matsukawa look between them and sigh, just knowing that the in-house psych expert would more than likely mention something. His boyfriend looked like he had a comment or two, too.

 

Suga finally calmed down, shamefully blushing at the reaction, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to brush it off. Especially in front of Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Not by a long shot. Daichi could only pray that Matsukawa didn't go into a full-blown diagnosis or suggests couples counseling. That would be unbearably embarrassing. Besides, they didn't need that.

 

This was a momentary lapse in their marriage. A blip.

 

They’ll move past this.

 

"Hm, well I wasn't sure if I should mention it," the raven began, shrugging his shoulders as he put on his serious-psychiatrist-professional-voice, thinking that it made him sound helpful,  "but given the past few weeks at work, Sugawara, this whole thing might just be a case of—"

 

Before he could say more, his strawberry blond boyfriend lifted his hand across his chest, slowly shaking his head as his lips quirked. Daichi was confused, watching his husband in his peripherals, catching the nurse tilt his head in confusion too. Hanamaki spoke.

 

"You know what? NO. No," Hanamaki said, shaking his hands now in tandem to his head, his lips still pursed as he turned to his taller boyfriend, talking directly to him, "We have enough to deal with, we're not gonna add their drama—no matter how juicy or how much I really want to know—to our list of growing concerns. We can't. Okay, we just can't right now. Sorry, but no," he said in one breath, exasperation clear in his face. After a moment, he turned to Daichi and Suga.

 

"Y'all adults. Y’all grown. You two have a good marriage and whatever your deal is, just talk it out.” He took a shaky breath, mouth tense and eyes dark with lost battles and victorious wars. His voice cracked with raw pain and sincerity. _“Talk. It out._ Okay? Okay," he finished before grabbing a hold of Matsukawa's hand, dragging him elsewhere, "Baby, let's go get drinks before we try to involve ourselves and get even more fed up with humanity. Later, guys."

 

And with that, Daichi was finally alone with his husband (who seemed repulsed by his own touch, it would seem, but he was trying not to dwell on that too much). Daichi wanted to _weep,_ already dreading his shower later that would most likely be his only sense of relief for a while. Which he would endure because obviously, Suga wasn't ready to go back to normal. Daichi could respect that, but he truly was at a lost on what to do.

 

Daichi and Suga always just seemed to work without effort. They fit so seamlessly that the dark-haired eductor never really prepared for...anything going wrong.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Daichi turned to his husband, half convinced that he might be hearing things.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more genuine than Daichi’s heard in weeks of small talk and distance, “you’re trying and I’m...not.”

 

He watched Suga drop his head and cross his arms in front of his chest, taking a deep breath before turning to the dark-haired man. He still refused to meet his eyes.

 

“It’s okay,” the brunet tried to reassure, wanting Suga to understand that Daichi knew where the blame fell, resting heavy but firm on his own shoulders, “I get it. I didn’t help, at all. I shouldn't have brought it up that way, that was on me. You don’t have to be sorry. It’s really o—”

 

"It's not okay, Daichi," Suga protested, dropping his arms to finally look into the taller man, all the pent-up anger (that Daichi was convinced was towards him this whole time) "And instead of trying to figure this out, I'm avoiding you. You're my husband and I'm acting ridiculous. That's not me, it's driving me crazy."

 

He sounded shaky, winded from the few words he’s spoken. Daichi wanted to hit himself all over for being such a dunce. To think that the entire time, Daichi had been worried about how Suga felt about _him_ since their disagreement that he completely sidetracked how Suga was coping himself with the distance.

 

“Me too,” he huffed.

 

"I can't pretend that I'm all in, though," the fair-haired nurse sighed, looking away again, "I still don't know what I want."

 

"I'm not trying to force you, Suga. I just want to have the discussion open. And hey, it doesn't have to be now...or ever...and if that's what we decide," Daichi offered, unsure how he felt about his statement. He was eager to share his own distress he’s been feeling but he knew for certain that regardless of what their decision was, "we have to decide together."

 

And maybe that would be enough. It seemed as if he had said the right thing to the nurse, seeing the way Suga visibly relaxed, turning back to his dark-haired husband.

“Okay?”

 

Warm eyes met his own.

 

“Okay.”

 

It seemed that all he had to do, all he hadn't realized, was allow Suga to feel like he had a say in their future—which was always the case. Daichi couldn't understand how that ever got lost in translation. Suga was the only thing in his future that he was certain of. That would never change, ever. His husband wanted to feel heard, and Daichi would just have to be better at listening.

 

It was just as Hanamaki said—they were a good couple, if anyone could work their troubles out, it was them.

 

Daichi watched the fair-haired beauty hesitate for a moment, before he slowly reached out, palm up and willing. Daichi didn’t hesitate at all to grab a hold.

 

They'll talk later and move past this because this was just a blip in their relationship—a test that will allow Daichi to prove to himself that Suga made the right decision to marry him, make a life with him, depend on him. It was time to step up and think about how to be a better husband before he could further humor the idea of possibly being a father.

 

“Thank you, Dai.”

 

However, it may take some time for him to fully accept the possibility of not being able to be both.

  


**Yamaguchi**

 

 

 

“Psst, Yama-kun.”

 

Yamaguchi nearly jumped out of his skin at his place by the finger sandwich station, his right hand balancing a small square plate filled to the brim of delectable hors-d'oeuvres for his girlfriend to gorge on (and maybe some for himself, too). Wondering who had called him, he fully faced the person, his posture stiff from the fitted suit when he preferred the comfort of his scrubs. The freckled man immediately recognized three of his fellow nurses; all female, all finely dressed, and all...blushing?

 

"Yes?" he asked. Yamauchi didn't usually share shifts with these three, but from the few times he has, he couldn't recall seeing any of them ever blush. They were deliberate with their work and somewhat serious in demeanor. They were hardly ever bashful.

 

“Um, we were just wondering...is that guy your friend? The one with the glasses?”

 

 _Ah_ , that’s what this was about. Yamaguchi tried not to break into a shit-eating grin, already prepared for what was to come.

 

“Yes. That’s my best friend, Tsukishima Kei. I invited him.”

 

“Is he single?”

 

Yamaguchi did is best to stiffen a giggle. Really he did. You have to believe him, this was not the sort of attention he had in mind for Tsukki when he thought that the hospital mixer would be a good place for suitors. Yet, his friend couldn’t seem to help but catch so many people’s eyes. Including those that weren’t his particular taste.  

 

It was always the same. Tsukki had a knack for catching people’s attention, especially if it was unwanted. The blond had been cursed with smarts, good looks, and ‘manners’. It was to be expected for the former middle blocker to become popular amongst the girls at school (his complaints always followed by Yamaguchi’s own, on how his friend was so ungrateful for the attention that the smaller boy would have gladly welcomed). After Yamaguchi realized that his best friend’s tastes were _completely different_ from his own, the playful envy had turned into full-blown hilarity (that he might or might not have encouraged at some point).

 

He looked to the left end of the venue, where he knew his favorite blondes were standing near the garden, chatting up a physical therapist that he and Yachi had thought would peak their aloof friend's interest. Maybe.

 

Unfortunately, the group of three had become a group of six in the few minutes that Yamaguchi had gone to grab some snacks. Most of the group being women who, by general observation at a safe distance, looked as if they couldn't help but fawn over the tall blond. It really was a sight.

 

Yamaguchi turned back to the ladies standing in front of him, smiling as he confirmed that _yes_ , his best friend was, indeed, single.

 

They let out a low squeal amongst themselves, thanked Yamaguchi for the insight, and walked towards the ever-growing group of fans that were causing Tsukki to strain his forced smile even more. And once said best friend noticed the new addition to his growing numbers, he quickly looked around in a state of panic until he caught sight of Yamauchi. The freckled nurse was fed with a glare from the tall blond, realization thick on his friend’s brow that Yamaguchi was to blame for his current predicament.

 

Yamaguchi playfully ignored the look, turning back to the finger foods to add to his pile. After a few more minutes (and moving onto the table with all the tiny desserts, a second plate on his other hand already halfway filled), he felt someone come up next to him, knowing who it was without having to turn from his place (especially since he was still trying to decide between the darling cucumber sandwiches or the cute apple tarts).

 

“I thought you actually had real options here.”

 

Yamaguchi couldn’t stop the smile that spread on his face, Tsukki’s obvious annoyance poorly hidden in his words. The best part was that he wasn’t frustrated, just annoyed—and an annoyed Tsukki was fun to mess with.

 

“Someone sounds eager,” he sang, making sure to keep his voice low enough not to encourage eavesdroppers.

 

“Don’t be a dick.”

 

“You’re being too harsh, Tsukki. That guy was nice. He was my pick too. The first one was Yachi’s pick.”

 

“The first was a pain to listen to. He droned on,” Tsukishima grumbled, passive-aggressively snatching one of the chocolate strawberries on Yamaguchi’s plate, even though there was a tray full on the table in front of them. Yamaguchi ignored it.

 

“Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic?” Yamaguchi teased, replacing the strawberry on his plate, only to have it stolen once again.

 

“He literally spent ten minutes trying to explain to me the difference between a jelly, a jam, and preserves,” the blond grumbled, nibbling at the stolen treat. The shorter nurse snorted, knowing exactly the pain Tsukki went through. He’s had the same conversation on a number of occasions. Instead of sympathizing, however, the freckled man just egged him on further.

 

“Well, Tsukki, they _are_ different. Personally, I’m a jelly man, myself—”

 

“ _Don’t_.”

 

“What? I am. I prefer a smoother texture,” Yamaguchi quipped, placing yet another strawberry on his plate. And before his grouchy friend could steal it, he slapped his hand quickly, hard enough to make Tsukki pout as he rubbed his barely wounded knuckles.

 

“You’re the worst friend.”

 

“You say the nicest things, Tsukki. Truly.”

 

“Also, your pick kept insisting that he wasn’t…” he left off, mumbling his words as he scanned the food in front them.

 

“What was that now?” Yamaguchi asked. Tsukishima, in turn, sighed with the heavy scent of frustration for being made to say what he obviously hoped was conveyed without using his words, like some presumptuous child. But Yamaguchi was used to the blond’s spoon-fed ways that he simply waited till Tsukki not so discreetly looked around to see if anyone could potentially hear them.  

 

“ —ay...” his mumbled, too low for Yamaguchi to catch all of it.

 

“You should really speak up, Tsukki.”

 

He could have sworn he heard a tongue clicking, but he was too busy wondering where the cream puffs were.

 

“Gaaaaaaaaaay,” the blond nasaled out beside him, still mindful of his volume. “There. Okay. Not gay, just _exploring_ his sexuality,” Tsukki huffed, finally grabbing his own plate, filling it with nothing but strawberries, “He made it very clear, repeating it every minute and when he said the word, he did so with finger quotes.”

 

“I’ll admit, Yokota-san was a stretch. That one was on me. But you almost sound, I dare say, _disappointed_ ,” he teased...with finger quotes. All he got was an eye roll before the blond turned back to the food.

 

“Plus, all these girls are a pain,” Tsukki jumped ship completely, flouting the nurse’s last remark, “How could you work here in peace?”

 

“That’s sexist, Tsukki.”

 

“How?”

 

“You just claimed that the girls, specifically, are pains.”

 

“I’m just saying that some of your coworkers _are_ pains. They just so happen to all be female. And I’m not saying all girls, just these ones,” the blond defended, walking sideways along the table with Yamaguchi, both picking out more sweets than they should.

 

“You’re just too popular, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi took a bite out of a cheese danish before piling it onto his already brimming plate, continuing down the table.

 

“Tch, I had to tell them I was going to the restroom just to get away.”

 

“And you really think they believed you?” Yamaguchi retorted, motioning his head behind them. Tsukki looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of ladies standing close by, watching him as they pretended to be occupied with their drinks or food, like desperate debutantes hoping to be whisked away by a handsome upper-cruster.  

 

“I regret coming,” he immediately sulked, making Yamaguchi laugh at how childish his friend could be given his size and demeanor.

 

“Fine, Tsukki. Let's go talk to someone else,” the freckled nurse offered, picking up his mountainous piles of food and walking from the table, knowing his friend would follow him regardless (mostly so he wouldn’t be bombarded with his abundant female fans), “I actually want to introduce you to this one ortho guy. He’s nice, and you both have a lot in common.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“He likes strawberries, too. I’ve seen him eat strawberry jelly.”

 

“Wow. _One thing_ in common. I wonder how should I propose,” the blond deadpanned, clearly not enthused and probably already daydreaming being anywhere else, “Also, everyone knows that jams are where it’s at.”

 

Yamaguchi laughed again.

 

“You’re a pain too, sometimes, Tsukki.”

 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

 

“Make me.”

 

Before Tsukishima could respond, the nurse picked up his stride, walking up to his girlfriend as he handed her a plate, the small girl already standing next to suitor #3 as she began to stuff her face (and choking only seconds later when she wolfed a water cracker down the wrong pipe). His smile didn’t even falter when Tsukki finally caught up, only raising an elegant brow as Yamaguchi whacked his date between her shoulder blades until said water cracker launched out of her like some gooey bullet. It made for quite the icebreaker.

 

The tall blond allowed himself to be herded by his best friend around like some prized farm animal with little complaint after that. (But he still complained, here and there.)

 

Yamaguchi and Yachi always left Tsukki alone with the guys, only being present for introduction before backing away so that the paleontologist and suitor#whatever could talk alone, get a feel for one another without interruption, or in Tsukishima’s case, buffers. That way the blond was forced to put in some effort to the conversation instead of standing on the sidelines observing.

 

Yamaguchi knew his best friend all too well. It would only take one thing for Tsukki to be disinterested. For a stoic guy, Tsukki had trouble hiding his displeasure—his brows would sink slightly and his eyes would wander to anything besides the person in front of him. His whole posture changed too, shifting on his heels to give some distance. The former middle blocker just had repetitive signs, easily picked up by someone who’s known him as long as Yamaguchi. But it was more than that too, their relationship was rich with trust and understanding as much as it was with time.

 

No one else has ever known Tsukki as well as he has.

 

Well...no one else _worth_ mentioning.

 

Yamaguchi immediately frowned.

 

 _Great_ , he thought, _there goes my good mood_.

 

He was starting to wonder if he might be thinking about Kuroo Tetsurou almost as much as Tsukki refused to admit.

 

(Yeah, that’s right—he knew Tsukki was thinking about that man. Who do you take him for? He just mentioned how well he knew the blond. You don’t think that being his best friend, he wouldn’t know all the signs of his friend reprimanding himself in his own head, losing his appetite and sleep, and—without a doubt—blaming himself for the outcome of what transpired? Of course he knew. Don’t insult him.)

 

Yamaguchi was pretty upset with the audacity of that man. After completely dropping his friend— _and then ghosting him by moving to fucking America_ —this dude still agreed to pretend he was interested in the blond, after years of distance, for a shag.

 

Who does that?   

 

Really, though. That’s just super shady.

 

What really drove the freckled man insane, though, was that Kuroo took advantage of a second chance (a second chance Yamaguchi didn’t think should have happened and would have advised against if he was given proper notice, but he digressed) and then **blew it**. And when Yamaguchi finally got Kei to tell him _everything_ that happened (which was about as grueling as it sounds), the nurse was ready to cut a bitch. What kind of opportunist accepts an invitation like that from someone they clearly knew still harboured feelings for them?

 

Because Yamaguchi knows _for a fact_ that Kuroo was aware of his best friend’s feelings for years now.

 

It all was thanks to Yamaguchi’s loving meddlesomeness that he finally convinced his friend that all his problems—Kuroo-centric problems, mostly—would disappear if Tsukki would only be honest about his feelings. If the blond confessed, he would have some sort of certainty of how to move forward.

 

And so, Tsukki promised he would.  

 

Then, Kei told Yamaguchi he confessed that his feelings of attraction had grown from something rivaling passion into affection. Stronger than affection, even. Tsukki swore that he told him. So he put himself out on the line, only for that asshole to escape to the states.

 

And, sure, he might be biased, but whatever.

 

Yamaguchi had his reasons to be. The biggest one being that Tsukki comes first, _of course_. But there was a time that he was once partial—which made everything worse. Before the doom, Yamaguchi had really, _really_ liked Kuroo.

 

Kuroo was smart, ambitious, and cordial—the senior who was clever as he was compassionate. His provoking nature gained interest but it was his sincerity that won people over. Yamaguchi had definitely respected the rival captain, but what had really hit the nail on the head for the then pinch-server wasn’t respect, it was astonishment. Because there was no other way to describe how he felt when he realized that the Nekoma captain had done the impossible—he had somehow found a way to enamour Tsukki.

 

And there was once a time that the freckled man had believed the same held true for the rival captain who loved to find any excuse to be around the tall blond.

 

_“So, you and Tsukki are dating, right?”_

 

_Yamaguchi felt his eyes leave his skull as they widened at the question, nearly choking on the offered drink on his lips. He turned his head from his place on the couch, wiping away the water that dribbled on his cheek with the backside of his hand. When he looked in Kuroo’s direction, to his surprise, the older boy looking away from him, very blatantly avoiding Yamaguchi’s gaze. The freckled boy’s cheeks had turned slightly pink at the question, but not nearly as rosy as the blush staining Kuroo’s neck._

 

_Shock quickly turned to understanding, which then turned to mirth._

 

_“Where did that come from?” Yamaguchi feigned innocence, trying to coax a little more than a blush from the older boy. Kuroo swallowed, clearing his throat before he spoke._

 

_“Well—I mean—you know, it’s just that,” Yamaguchi almost laughed at the poor guy, clearly unused to not knowing what to say, “well, the thing is...”_

 

_The freckled boy wished he was recording this for Tsukki to watch later, to see his older crush completely fumble over his words as he tried to get the deets about the blond’s love life. When it seemed he had finally found the words, the raven cleared his throat again, hands rested on his lap as he was biting his lip before he continued._

 

_"...I kinda feel like I have to look after Tsukki. Make sure that he's being taken cared of," he said lowly, both confusing and amusing the younger boy, "Being his... senpai...and all," the raven ended weakly, with an even darker blush._

 

_Yamaguchi beamed._

 

_He might be wrong—though he highly doubts it—but it may just be possible that Nekoma’s former captain might be jealous of little ole’ Tadashi._

 

_Oh, he couldn’t wait to rendezvous with Akiteru, give him the latest insight on the Kuroo situation so they could bully Tsukki into actually making some sort of move._

 

 _Both Yamaguchi and Akiteru were quick to figure out that the youngest Tsukishima brother had been acting strange since summer of their first year. It had taken till Nationals for the freckled boy to finally realize what was bothering Kei so much. You see, the blond had a huge problem: he had developed a crush. On an older boy, no less. But that wasn’t the_ _best_ _worst part, oh, no. The blond middle blocker had gone ahead and developed a crush on their rival: the provoking Nekoma captain._

 

_Now, over a year later, they were spending their Autumn holiday in the same man's apartment._

 

_Well, Tsukki was. Yamaguchi is only here for the afternoon._

 

_Tsukki had offered to pick up their food down the street, allowing this very pleasant conversation to transpire. Yamaguchi, however, was just staying for a couple more hours before going to see his grandmother—Tsukki was going to be staying here for the week (and no, Yamaguchi was not going to come to his rescue half-way through the week when Tsukki called him because he was done with dealing with Bokuto and Kuroo around the clock)._

 

_After being bullied to hang out more often by the former Fukurodani ace during the first training of their second year back in May, his best friend and the bedhead had become closer over the course of the year. And it had become almost impossible not to see it now—Tsukki's small annoying crush had turned into a full-blown infatuation._

 

_And, just maybe, he wasn't the only one whose interests have grown._

 

_Yamaguchi had to play this smart—he couldn’t give Kuroo advice on how to woo his friend up front because that might give away Tsukki’s feelings that he may not be willing to act on yet. And he couldn’t necessarily tell the blond that his theory that Kuroo 100% reciprocated his feelings because he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good idea._

 

_Kuroo was considerate, intelligent, and super cool, but he had some worrisome weeds snaking through the grapevine. Yamaguchi knew that some of the salacious hearsay was true, getting some things confirmed by some of the more ‘simple’ members of the Nekoma volleyball team (he can always count on Lev to know the 411). The former captain might be a playboy, but that could be fixed—all he needed was the right motivation to strive for a more serious kind of relationship._

 

_Bingo._

 

_There was no motivation that Yamaguchi could think of that was better than his striking, smart, and snarky best friend. If anyone could change Kuroo’s non-dating habits, it was Tsukki._

 

 _Kuroo’s inquiry still seemed like a stretch, but Yamaguchi was more than certain that the elder had asked of his relationship with the blond because he had to at least be_ a little _interested._

 

_And normally, Yamaguchi would milk this—drag it on until the older ravenhead realized that he had spilled his entire life-story to the freckled teen (he could really do it, it’s true. How do you think he got Takeda-sensei to faint after asking about his ‘staff meeting’ between him and coach? No one can hide from him). But he decided that he didn’t have time to beat around the bush. Even if it would have been hilarious to watch._

 

_“I’m straight.”_

 

_The reaction was immediate. Kuroo had finally looked at him, with a similar expression that Yamaguchi wore when the raven started the conversation—cheeks on fire and eyes jumping out of his face. The hair made it too perfect, breaking Yamaguchi's cool and causing him to cover his mouth to hold back the laughter he could no longer contain._

 

_“I’M SO SORRY!” Kuroo cried, clearly mortified._

 

_“It’s okay,” Yamaguchi giggled, now really upset that he didn’t have a camera._

 

_"God, I'm stupid. I ju—I thought—’cuz  when he told me he liked guys, I just got to thinking. And you guys always hang out and are always around each other," the dark-haired boy babbled, "I'm really sorry I just assumed, I didn't mean to offend!"_

 

_“Kuroo-san, it’s fine. I get it.”_

 

_“Yeah, okay. Sorry. It’s just that I know Tsukki doesn’t spend time with anybody unless he really likes them, and...he spends the most time with you. Just made sense that he’d be with you.”_

 

 _“Well, we are best friends,” the younger boy reasoned matter a factly, “Plus, I’m one of the few people he tolerates,” Yamaguchi tried to explain, “or really, one of the few he would_ admit _to tolerating. He denies that he likes Hinata and Kageyama, still.”_

 

 _“Classic Tsukki,” Kuroo huffed with a smile, looking_ suspiciously _relieved._

 

_“But you’re not wrong, though,” Yamaguchi added, deciding that he could fuck with Kuroo if only just a little. Before Tsukki got back, at least. Kuroo raised a brow, tilting his head in confusion._

 

_“About?”_

 

_“Tsukki. He wouldn’t spend time with someone unless he really liked them. The more time he invests, the more interested he is.”_

 

_“Oh,” Kuroo nodded, seemingly understanding what the younger boy was saying, “That makes sense. But, you can’t really use that if you’re the only one he spends time with.”_

 

_“Oh, I know it’s true, in fact.”_

 

_“How?” Kuroo smirked, probably hoping for an embarrassing story about the blond or some clever anecdote. But Yamaguchi had something better._

 

_The truth._

 

 _“Well, I mean, he spends_ a lot _of time with you. Doesn’t he?”_

 

_Yamaguchi finished with an angelic smile, loving the way the blood drained from Kuroo’s face faster than the battery drained from his iPhone. It was quite the sight._

 

_To be fair, it really was true._

 

_If Tsukki was on the phone, texting or otherwise, it was with Kuroo._

 

_If he came to morning practice barely able to keep his eyes open, it’s probably because he was skyping with the older middle blocker the night before._

 

_For goodness sake, Kei was spending every long weekend and most holidays in Tokyo to visit Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kuroo—with very little time spent with the Fukurodani pair._

_And—_

 

_You know what?_

 

_He takes back what he said earlier—Kuroo might just be the stupidest person he’s ever met._

 

 _Before Yamaguchi could say so—and before Kuroo could ask what he meant—the front door opened, revealing the tall blond, bundled in knit and wool. He walked in with a plastic bag, unwrapping his scarf and slipping off his shoes. He looked like he was about to say something, no doubt about the weather or how much of a chore venturing out was, but then he looked at the pair on the couch—Kuroo looking odd and unsure and Yamaguchi looking_ so pure.

 

_Tsukishima scowled._

 

_“Were you two talking about me?”_

 

_“Maybe,” Yamaguchi smiled, enjoying the sight of his best friend huffing at his answer before trudging his way into the kitchen, mumbling that they were idiots before he was out of sight. The blond was just too cute, sometimes—eh, no, not cute. More like—_

 

_“Adorable,” said not Yamaguchi._

 

_Yeah! Yeah. Adorable was the perfect way to descr—wait, what?_

_"Hmm?" Yamaguchi turned back to the older boy, unsure if he heard correctly. He was expecting the uneasy blush from before on Kuroo's face, but instead, he wore a smile. A real smile that made his eyes light up as they stared across the room at the kitchen entrance. His whole expression was nothing more than smitten._

 

_The freckled teen also takes back what he said earlier about his best friend—Tsukki was the second stupidest person he's ever met._

 

_Yamaguchi definitely needed to talk to Akiteru. He only confirmed his finding more when Kuroo continued, a warm flicker crossing his eyes as he smiled._

 

_“When he pouts, he really is just too—”_

 

“—adorable.”

 

Yamaguchi snapped from his musing, turning to his girlfriend who was eagerly watching Tsukki from across the courtyard, watching his face fall every second he was stuck with suitor#5. Unsure of what Yachi had said, he nudged her gently, asking her if she could repeat herself for him.

 

“Oh, I just said that Tsukki really is adorable when he pouts, don’t you think?” she spoke, pointing to the grumpy boy’s direction with a delicate finger.

 

The freckled man turned back to his friend, watching the blond count the seconds in his head as he tried his best to ignore his current admirer. The nurse felt his lips tilt up, fully agreeing with Yachi—and now that he thinks about it, with Kuroo too.

 

And maybe Yamaguchi could forgive Kuroo for a second, seeing that Yamaguchi might have been partially to blame for what had ended up happening—and continuing—for years after their conversation in the older man’s apartment. Maybe the small little hint he planted in the raven’s head that day only further persuaded him. Maybe Tsukki’s eventual heartbreak was partially Yamaguchi’s fault too.

 

Maybe that’s why he always tended to go out of his way for Kei when it came to love.

 

Was bringing his best friend to the mixer just part of Yamaguchi’s grand plan to show potential bachelors that the blond was a catch, wanting to show him off so that one of them would end up being his boyfriend—a boyfriend that he could invite to parties and double dates and holidays and eventually ask Yamaguchi to be his best man at the wedding?

 

Yes, that was 100% his intentions to bring the blond here. But maybe…

 

All his attempts at matchmaking, all the forced introductions, all the blind dates, all the setting up, all the numbers he passed on...maybe they were also part of an apology that Yamaguchi hasn’t known how to give.

 

He had encouraged Tsukki to pursue Kuroo—had pushed him, even.

 

Yamaguchi helping Tsukki move on was his atonement. Because he would spend however long it took to help find someone for Tsukki, knowing he was partly at fault that the blond had completely fallen head over heels.

 

This was his way to finally do right by his best friend. He wanted Tsukki to have a chance at happiness, after all. Before he could get lost in his musing once more, his girlfriend squeaked, scaring him half to death thinking that she might have choked on something again. Before he could worry, though, she began shaking him by the shoulders, frustration seeping out of her and making his world spin on its axis.

 

“He just completely walked away from him—without saying anything!” Yachi cried, groaning that Tsukki was hopelessly ungrateful for all his appeal and the couple's hard work, “You know, he would argue against it, but Tsukki really is a trouble child.”

 

She had let go of his shoulders, quickly grabbing onto Yamaguchi's hand before she dragged him across the venue, wholly determined to intercept Tsukki before he got away. And the freckled man let her because of the fact that she was leading them to help his best friend made it all the better. Not only would he do right by Tsukki but so would Yachi, and together he was positive that they could help in finding someone that the blond would be willing to give a chance to and his heart (and if she was partially hoping they could finally go out on double dates too, he wouldn't say anything). Hopefully, both he and Yachi won’t have to force Tsukki to suck it up and find happiness in someone worthy.

 

Or else Yamaguchi was going to lose his shit.   

  


**Sugawara**

 

 

It was likely karma. Daichi and he shuffled close to each other—closer than they’ve ventured in weeks—whispering about their favorite grumpy underclassman, displayed and paraded around the courtyard like the prized blond stallion that he was. They held hands as they made fun, a small endearment that the nursed missed in the past weeks. Next thing he knew the Chief Nursing Officer, aka his boss, asked him to meet someone she wanted to introduce him to. It wasn’t like Sugawara could have said no.

 

He squeezed his husband’s hand firmly before following the CNO onwards, sending Daichi a smile over his shoulder before he merged into the crowd on her heels. Suga had hoped he would get some time to actually relax during his work party, but it would seem not. Sugawara had been shaking hands and catching up with familiar faces, both leather skinned doctors and rosy-cheeked interns, since he arrived. And yes, part of that was due to the uncomfortable rift between him and his better half earlier. Granted, they still had a lot to talk about...and possible fight about, but the nurse was no longer dreading the inevitable altercation they've been putting off for far too long.

 

So now he just had to get through a few more handshakes and professional smiles. The nurse was counting the minutes until he could breathe easy. When his boss finally came to a stop near the hor d'oeuvres, the ash-haired nurse caught sight of an unfamiliar face trying to decide on deserts as he bit his lip. The mystery man turned his attention when he heard the supervising nurse call him by name. Once in front of him, the first thing Sugawara noticed were his...really big ears.

 

They were rounded and protruded outwards, the tips slightly sunburnt and sticking out from his loose brown curls. It didn’t quite fit the rest of his handsome face, but Sugawara tried not to stare openly. He thought he succeeded until he saw the man smile sheepishly before tugging at the curls around his ears, shielding them from view. Suga immediately felt to blame.

“Sugawara,” his CNO gestured to the man in front of them, the awkwardness going unnoticed by her, “I’d like you to meet Doctor Mizutani Atsumori. He’s to become the new head of the Pediatric department.”

 

Well, that’s just great.

 

Suga didn’t intend on giving such an uncomfortable first impression to anyone, let alone the new head of his own department. And honestly, he wasn’t trying to draw attention to the man’s ears, they did that on their own accord. Trying to salvage what was left of his introduction, the nurse held out his hand towards the curly-haired doctor, the other man grabbing hold as his boss continued, “Mizutani-sensei, this is the head pediatric nurse I’ve been talking to you about. Sugawara Koushi.”

 

“Yes, I remember,” Mizutani-sensei let go of his hand, “I’ve heard a lot of things about you, Sugawara-san.”

 

“All good things, I hope,” Suga parroted from the dozen polite conversations he’s had since the day began. Most of the distinguishable guest were quite unexceptional with introductions. He wouldn’t hold it against the doctor if he was too.

 

“Yes, all good,” he predictably said, nodding. The motion ruffled away the locks that covered his ears, skin peaking out, unbeknownst to the doctor. Suga held his tongue and shifted his gaze back. When he and Mizutani locked eyes, they shared a polite smile when Suga heard his CNO take a breath.

 

“Oh dear, I just spotted someone, please excuse me,” she raced to the right and disappeared before either one realized, leaving them alone.

 

The doctor continued to smile nervously, though his grin didn’t look as strained as before and fit well on his face. Sugawara felt some nerves disappear from his friendly demeanor, and being the people person he was, tried to make conversation to keep the doctor from squirming.  

 

“So, are you excited to join us here, sensei?”

 

"Yes, very," Mizutani cleared his throat, gesturing to the party around them, "everyone I've met has been nice, so far." He shifted onto the heel of his shoes, his eyes darting around anxiously. The nurse wasn't sure why he would be nervous but didn't press further, steering towards a more polite and professional conversation.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, sensei, why’d you choose Tokyo General?”

 

“They had an opening.” He answered matter-of-factly. Suga nodded cordially, unsure how to keep the conversation going. He was about to politely excuse himself when the doctor cleared his throat again.

 

“Well,” he scratched his chin sheepishly, “I was actually given a grant.” Sugawara tilted is head in surprise, his eyes widening along with his smile. The last time the hospital’s board gave a grant, the cardiology department was knee-deep in trials.

 

"That's amazing," he said and meant it. This doctor must have been quite a catch, seeing as the hospital was placing their bets on him. What was most surprising was the fact that unlike most big swingers that took on the their own department, Mizutani-sensei seemed remarkably shy. And humbly awkward.

 

“Thank you” the doctor nodded again, exposing more of his ears. Having found some confidence, he continued, “The board wanted someone who would help restructure the pediatrics department and they were also offering to let me do my research here,” he shrugged, “So I came.”

 

“Research? As in, experimental work?”

 

"Yes. That's my plan, at least. Actually, my meeting everyone today and all the introductions are helpful with scouting."

 

“Scouting?”

 

“For my detail. The team I want working with me on my research.”

 

"Anyone impress yet?" Suga asked, not trying to show his eagerness. He wondered how many other nurses he might have to tackle to sign up for Mizutani's research work. To give it to the pediatric department, to a new department head, was unheard of. As hard as it was for some to believe, people didn't enjoy doctors experimenting on their children. Go figure.

 

Mizutani must really be something else if he was able to convince the board.

 

"Yes," the older man smiled, "In fact, I've made a short list before today on who I want on my team so far. No one concrete, yet," he paused, tilting his head before replying, "well, actually, one person has caught my eye. I think they'd make a great addition to my research, someone I've been told would be essential and can really give me a hand when things get rolling."

 

“Kubodera-sensei?” the nurse asked, naming the most likely candidate for the job. Suga didn’t think it wise to hope. The question made the older man chuckle, enough that Suga saw the tips of his ears wiggle when he laughed. Now _that_ was endearing.

 

“You, Sugawara-san.”

 

“Me?” Suga asked, unsure if he heard correctly.

 

“Yes. Your record here speaks for itself, but there are so many who have nothing to say about you but praise. And apparently, no one knows the pediatric department as well as you.”

 

“Wow, that’s,” the nurse muttered, unable to find the words, the right words of gratitude to express how he was feeling. So he went with what he knew. “Thank you, sir.” He bowed his head slightly, unsure what more he could do. When he looked back up, he caught the hesitant smile on the older man.  

 

“Is that a yes?” he asked. Sugawara could have teased him for asking such a thing.

 

"Yes," he said instead, "I'd be honored, Mizutani-sensei."

 

“Please,” Mizutani waved his hand in dismissal, “we’re going to be seeing each other a lot from now on. I’ll puke if I have to hear the ‘sensei’ so often,” he laughed, “I prefer Mizu.”

 

“Then,” the nurse added, “I insist you call me Suga. Everyone does.”

 

“Alright,” He brought his hand forward, open and certain. Suga didn’t hesitate to take it. “Welcome to the team, Suga-san.”

 

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mizu-san.” The held their grip for a few seconds longer before they let go. The doctor took a step closer and leaned forward, his aftershave clear and sharp. Suga caught the elder’s eyes drift to his hands, the golden band open to view.

 

“Though, I should warn you to talk to your wife,” the older man whispered, as if telling a secret, “I’m not sure she’ll be happy with all the late hours and picked up shifts you might have to do once things get going.” Sugawara felt the politeness seep back to his face. He wasn’t going to correct the man, it seemed silly. It’ll probably be less awkward that way.

 

“I’m sure my _spouse_ will understand,” he replied, pleased. He figured that would be the end of that until Mizutani gestured to the crowd.

 

“Are they here?” he asked eagerly.

 

Suga sighed, figuring he wouldn’t be able to wait to properly share the details of his marriage till they were better acquainted. He turned back to where he came, craning his head and standing on his toes to see if he could catch a glimpse of Daichi. It didn’t take him long to spot him talking with Yachi near one of the drink stations.

 

"They're talking to one of our friends now," he pointed towards the pair, "right there, in front of the punch." Mizutani searched in their direction, smiling when he caught sight. He turned back to Suga with an approving glint.

 

“She’s really cute.”

 

Sugawara held back a chuckle, then shook his head.

 

“She’s...not my husband...He’s the one in grey,” he corrected, the older man dropped his smile. He looked completely mortified, and Suga hoped he was as understanding as he seemed. Then suddenly, Mizutani bowed his head, a crimson tint coating the tops of his ears.

 

“Apologies, Suga-san. I didn’t mean to assume.”  

 

"No, it's no problem," he reassured, laughing nervously as he waved his hands in front of him, "doesn't change the fact that he'll probably get grumpy once I do extend my hours." He shrugged, realizing how true that was. Sugawara didn't mean to embarrass the poor man. It was an honest mistake. Then he said:

 

“I don’t blame him.”

 

"Really?" Suga chuckled, wondering if the new head had a hidden sense of humor. He looked at the doctor, who kissed his teeth as he lifted his head and offered a sheepish grin to the nurse.

 

His expression ripped the air from Sugawara's lungs.

 

“Really,” he said with conviction, immediately confusing the nurse, “I’m sure if I had a husband like you,” he shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

 

The nurse dropped his smile.

 

His first instinct was to panic and question profusely, but then he figured he should take a second to think rationally. This guy was going to be running an entire division—he was about to be his _boss_. He probably didn't mean it the way Suga was interpreting it. Before he could question him, his CNO walked back towards them as she clutched onto the doctor's elbow.

 

“Mizutani-sensei,” she quickly started to drag him, “I’d like you to meet someone.” She was entering the crowd before he could refuse her, stumbling in her path. Before he completely disappeared, he turned back to the nurse and gave him a friendly wave, calling out.

 

“Looking forward to working with you, Suga-san,” then he faded into the rest of the party.

 

The ash-haired nurse only heard buzzing around him, tinnitus humming in his mind. Then he felt a warm, strong hand resting on his shoulder blade. He turned to Daichi, who was staring at him with a raised brow.

 

“Suga, you okay?”

 

“Huh?” he answered, aptly. He blinked a number of times before he registered his question. “Oh, yeah, fine. Why?”

 

“It’s just I thought you might be catching a cold,” he heard his husband. Suga blinked again, his brows creased.

 

“No, I don’t think so. Why’d you ask?”

 

Daichi shrugged and tilted his head, the afternoon sun highlighting the curve of his ears that caught the nurse’s eyes.

 

“You look flushed.”

 

**Tsukishima**

 

 

 

For the record: Tsukishima wasn’t a sexist.  

 

He felt completely justified in saying that the girls here at the mixer were beyond annoying. Not annoying in the same regards as waiting in a large line or ordering a meal that's sold out. No. This qualifies in the same league as that one time Akiteru let him use his scooter when he was six. Kei kept striking his ankles on the flat metal edge, ultimately throwing a fit and tossing said borrowed scooter into some random bushes before walking home with bruised and battered ankles. And to be frank, if someone isn’t careful enough, they might end up in a bush by party’s end.

 

The females attending the mixer reminded him too much of his teenage years, dodging love confessions and politely letting girls down since he wasn’t even attracted to them. When he walked into the party with his suit, tie, and air of indifference alongside his friends, there wasn’t a moment where Tsukishima hadn’t been more than a meter away from small groups of women. They tried whispering to themselves—as if he couldn’t notice them. He should invest in a large banner that hangs off his shoulders like a cape. ‘ _I’m not interested’_ boldly written onto the fabric. That might save him some time and trouble.

 

Would have been quite useful a few nights ago, that’s for sure.

 

Tsukishima growled. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that right now.

 

He still wasn’t sure how to feel about what transpired with Aoki. It had only been two days since, but this wasn’t the time or place to be wondering how he could have changed things. _Not here, later,_ he reminded himself, _Think about it later_.

 

He tried to figure out how to avoid interacting with the hordes of female employees, but as annoying as the women of the hour were, they were the least of his concerns.

 

What was most disconcerting was how the two of his best friends could pick out such awful— _just absolutely terrible_ —choices for him in their joint matchmaking scheme from Satan’s anus.

 

It was almost impressive how repellent all these men were.

 

 _Really_ , he told himself, _you were doomed from the start, Kei._ He wondered if Yamaguchi and Yachi were taking this whole endeavor as a joke. He hoped they were. If this was them being serious, then that meant their common sense was on the same level as Shrimpy and The King, and what would that say about his own choice in friends? Walking around the party as he tried to locate his pimps, Tsukishima hoped he didn’t bump into any of his horrendous suitors.

 

 _‘Jams, jellies, and preserves’ guy,_ who happened to be an oral surgeon, was a solid _no_ for him. That’s a no-brainer (and no, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel even an ounce of guilt for disposing of him via his former upperclassman, Sawamura. Honestly, if Kei had seen his former captain earlier, he would have dumped the surgeon on him and ran away at top speed).

 

The physical therapist Yamaguchi completely botched on him could find someone else to help him ‘explore’ his sexual identity with.

 

The strawberry loving ortho doctor was a borderline narcissist, and he had a wandering eye.  He could find someone else to test the ergonomics of his mattress with. No thank you.

 

The fourth guy was some immunologist that was too much of a germaphobe to shake his hand. Since the blond wasn’t planning on dating someone who would cringe at the idea of kissing him, he had to pass that one up too.

 

The fifth guy was crude, and Tsukishima all but choked on his spit when he mentioned that he was great in bed….since he was a certified proctologist. No one could blame him from walking away after that.

 

The sixth and seventh men were both nurses and both good looking. They kept telling Kei how awesome the other was, from sports to diets and cool date ideas. It was commendable how kind they were to each other even though they were vying for the blond's interests. Then Tsukishima realized that they weren't actually interested in him because they were obviously crushing hard on each other. He was tempted to stay a little longer to entertain himself on the pained smiles and yearning gazes the two exchanged (seriously, the most fun he had all night aside from the dessert table), but he didn’t want to be a plot device in a shoujo manga. How Yamaguchi or anyone else didn't catch that was nuts, but he simply excused himself (let it be known that Tsukishima Kei is no cock block).

 

The eighth guy he spoke to was too old. The ninth was too into _Magic: The Gathering_.

 

And the tenth one was—actually, the tenth seemed pretty okay.

 

He was dermatologist named Taihei-san who had a nice laugh. Nothing he actually said was terribly funny but he seemed kind. He talked about his pet tortoise, hiking, and how he never learned how to ride a bike. And that was fine, but Kei didn't pursue him. He shook the pleasant doctor's hand and told him it was lovely to meet him, then walked away. The whole encounter was nice, but there was no chemistry, just politeness and mild interest. Even if he knew that finding someone who was perfect was a lot to ask for in one mixer, mild interest didn’t fill him with excitement about reentering the dating pool.

 

Both Yamaguchi or Yachi couldn't say that he wasn't trying because he _totally_ was. Tsukishima had introduced himself, conversed, and tolerated most of the people he was forced to interact with for at least a few minutes. It wasn't his fault that the _his two best friends_ had no idea what his tastes were.

 

Not that his tastes in men were any good to begin with. He could admit that.

 

The tall blond was starting to feel discouraged. There was a buzzing in his head, an annoying voice trying to reason how pointless all of this was, how mundane this all seemed—that there was no point in starting something he knew would end.

 

Then again, Kei wondered how many years he could have saved himself if he had only stopped hoping that a _certain someone_ would look at him as more than what they were.

 

The blond shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. Again.

 

 _Not here_ , he chided himself, _not now. Later_.

 

Two weeks of trying to go cold turkey on his poisonous tumor had started leaving him with splitting headaches and throbbing chest pains. Moving on was a painful process but he was willing. But this wasn’t the time nor place to think of that, of _him_. Kei had made up his mind—he’s moving on. That’s what he said, that’s what was decided. He needed an equal partner and a fresh start. He would not be here otherwise.

 

 _Clear head, clean slate_ , Tsukishima had tried to repeat throughout the past weeks, only for him to give in and think of _his_ smile, _his_ laugh, _his_ warmth, _his_ embrace, _his everything_. It had gone from a mild nuisance and turned into a full-blown distraction. Instead of finding an adult way of clearing his mind, however, he went off and got stupid drunk until he hurt a close friend.

 

It almost felt like the last straw of this puzzling roller coaster that was Tsukishima's failings with love. He had crossed a line of allowing his heartbreak (yes, he has now come to the point where he's admitting to being heartbroken...at least to himself) to burn someone else he cared about.

 

No more.

 

And this time around, Kei didn’t intend on settling for less than what he wanted or deserved. He knew his worth now.

 

Though, that was easier said than done.

 

Convincing himself was one thing, but actually trying to rid the cancerous thoughts out of his mind was another thing altogether. He was a work in process as a person, emotionally dwarfed and imperfect, but he wanted to succeed in this new chapter. He may still be on baby steps, but he wanted to finally attempt walking in full strides.

 

Kei might have also hoped he'd eventually be introduced to someone who would be willing to cut open his traitorous brain and extract every fibre that was still beckoned for that _certain someone_. For his own sake. He’s perfectly fine with tabula rasa—he was fine forgetting. As long as it gave him what he wanted. Second chances, and all that.

 

No more heartache.

 

No more good friends setting up traps that disguised themselves as bad dates.

 

No more sly glances across a room that he pretended weren’t sent.

 

No more digging through old memories that were viewed through rose-tinted glass.

 

No more fictional ‘what ifs.’ All idealized. Romanticized. Ridiculous.

 

No more hurting friends. Hurting Aoki. Hurting, in general.

 

No more disappointing best friends. Disappointing brothers. Disappointing himself.

 

No more Kuroo.

 

 _Think about him later_. A mantra he's been forced to feed himself to little avail. The same storm flooding his mind, regardless of his willpower.

 

While he was still on a loop, Tsukishima hadn't seemed to notice his surroundings and had accidentally walked into a young intern, who had also been too distracted gaping at him to notice that she was on a collision course with the taller man. Before either one realized it, and before she could rebalance herself, the young intern accidentally spilled some of her wine. Worst of all, the spill had been on Tsukishima himself.

 

On his fucking tie, too.

 

_(“And we have found a winner, ladies and gentlemen!!! She is taking home the grand prize of being thrown into a fucking bush for the evening! Congratulations to the lucky contestant!”)_

 

The wine took to the tie like a disease, the red colour spreading through each stitch of silk, tinting the dark blue into a murky, muddy purple. Ruining it. Just like he had foretold.

 

Sometimes Kei hated being right.

 

The intern had turned as vibrant as her spilled drink, cheeks violet as she apologized outrageously. Her repeated offers to pay for dry-cleaning or to personally replace the tie had begun to catch other people's attention, making the blond's eyes dart around for either his best friend or Yachi. Neither one were close by, and the intern had begun to cling to his blazer. This was not his idea of being wined-and-dined and the stares from all the other envious ladies became painfully distressing.

 

Before he could even think, the blond had tugged the fabric loose from its knot, untying it before he folded the ends of the silk to cover the damp areas. Tsukishima placed it in her palm and told the young intern that it now belonged to her—happy to be rid of it if it allowed him to escape. Which was a shame—he loved that tie.

 

Tsukishima left the scene quickly, hightailing it before someone else bumped into him ‘accidentally’, making his way to one of the furthest bars at the edge of the garden, where he would be less disturbed. Hopefully. When he got to the bar, he ordered a water hoping to calm his nerves, leaning his elbows against the wood of the bartop as he waited.

 

Annoyance was spilling out of his body like flares of heat. Tsukishima knew himself enough to understand the signs his own body gave when he was overwhelmed. Crowds were a problem, but he could usually cope knowing he’d be able to recharge later in the privacy of his own home. This whole meet and greet situation felt too much. It was daunting to meet men he wasn’t entirely interested in with the premise of dating—even though the blond knew he had no intention of seriously pursuing anything beyond brief satisfaction.

 

It might have been almost nostalgic to remember how vapid it all felt at the end of the day, but the crushing amount of attention was getting to him, especially when he's at the mental capacity of a weaker man. It was the main reason Kei had decided that he was going to leave soon (and the whole tie thing was a terribly perfect ending for this whole circus). He knew both Yamaguchi and Yachi had no one else for him to meet, so he had no real reason to stay any longer. He would finish his drink, say goodbye to the people he knew, _check if there was anyone who could seriously help him with his ever-growing tumor_ , and bid adieu to his friends.

 

The blond shifted back when the bartender placed his glass in front of him, bringing it to his lips, ice slipping on his silver tongue. Some moisture stuck to his lip, which he quickly licked off and placed the glass back down on some coaster before he felt a tingle he knew all too well running along his neck. He was being watched—which was the cherry on top of the sundae of a grand fucking day.

 

His first guess was some cluster of women who seemed to find nothing better to do than to annoy him, as seemed to be the safest bet. Just as he was about to look over his right shoulder, however, his eyes caught a gentleman less than a few feet away from him at the bar, one elbow planted lazily on the wood and the other at his hip. His pose came off as nonchalant if not for the fact that he wasn't facing the bar, but directly facing Kei with his entire body. What might have been worse was the fact that this stranger was staring right at him, brazenly so, a few strands of his dyed blond hair falling gracefully on his face as he tilted his head sideways.

 

An easy smirk rested perfectly on his pleasing face, because of-fucking-course there would be.

 

Tsukishima quickly looked away, unsure whether to worry about how uncool he'll seem if he sprinted away or not. He didn't even have a chance to even contemplate which exit to escape to, let alone get another thought in other than ‘ _what the actual fuck?_ ’ before the man opened his mouth, bright white teeth that seemed to flash him briefly.

 

“Are you some sort of model?” was the first thing out of the stranger’s mouth...

 

...which...was random.

 

Usually, someone would ask a stranger for their name, not their occupation. This guy didn't even ask, he just guessed. And a model?

 

"No," Tsukishima answered coldly, confusion melting his usual impassiveness. He never cared to acknowledge someone he didn't deem worth the effort but...sometimes his brain short-circuited when he was surrounded by odd people and how much they didn't make any sense (it happened when he met Hinata, when he kept getting mini heart attacks whenever a _certain_ captain walked by, when he had to dissect a sheep uterus instead of a frog during his biology course, and when the King actually asked him to babysit a pot full of plastic). This felt like another confusing blip just like the rest. He wanted to immediately drop the conversation, which usually indicated to people that he didn't actually want to talk to them, let alone acknowledge them, so he went with what he knew.

 

Deciding to pretend the other man wasn’t there, the blond brought his water to his mouth, hoping to finish it off and escape. Tsukishima was about to retreat when he heard the stranger's  voice once more.

 

"A movie star, then?" Stranger guessed again, this time pointing directly to Kei.

 

Though Kei was pretty certain that he just dismissed Stranger with a classic _Kei’s cold shoulder remedy_ (it’s really quite brilliant. Akiteru says it’s so effective that he could even seal it up, patent it, and sell it with ease. He’s so proud), this guy just didn’t seem to take the hint.

 

“Or variety show host?” he continued, seemingly ignoring Tsukishima’s iceberg front.

 

And once again, Kei was at a loss.

 

Where is this guy going with this? Who just goes up to a stranger and ask that?

 

Talk about terrible first impression. This guy was clearly disturbed or had to be the worst small talker Kei’s ever met. The blond kept his face neutral as he internally questioned Stranger’s motives for bothering him with such obnoxiously odd questions. Maybe this guy had mistaken him for someone else, or maybe he thinks he might have recognized Tsukishima from somewhere.

 

Those were the only logical explanations for this man’s inquiry. Plus, these liners were just horrible…

 

...horrible...lines...

 

Jesus Christ.

 

This dude was hitting on him.

 

_With pick-up lines._

 

He was never going to accept any invitation from Yamaguchi _ever_ again.

 

“Is that some weird line you use?” Kei asked, hoping Stranger got that he was in no way shape or form impressed.

 

“No, serious question,” Stranger replied.

 

Tsukishima didn't even know if his face could turn sourer, awkwardness already weighing down the corners of his mouth. Making the matter worse, Kei now had no idea what this guy wanted. Why's he's chosen Kei to be a victim in this game of uncomfortable question that may or may not be flirtatious?

 

Who knows.

 

“...no, I’m not,” Tsukishima answered plainly. That didn’t seem to hinder said Stranger’s enthusiasm.

 

“Idol? Famous novelist? TV Chef? Blogger? Porn fluffer?”

 

The blond’s face flushed bright, his pale skin enhancing the pink tint that he was positive Stranger noticed. He stopped himself from choking, catching his breath before he whispered back harshly.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed, catching Creep (yes, he’s downgraded so quickly that Kei completely skipped _Weirdo_ and _Menace_ and went straight for _Creep_ ) off guard, letting Kei catch a breath as he tried to regain his composure. “Why are you asking me such weird things?”

 

“Well, it’s simple,” Creep chimed, his voice raspy like wool. Kei didn’t care. He didn’t. This guy was making him uncomfortable with his weird questions said in his weird tone sliding off his weird smile stretching his weird full lips—

 

_Why the fuck are you looking at his lips?_

 

“Is it?” Tsukishima bit out, trying to reign in his dumb brain from staring at this guy's face. His eyes kept catching Creep’s mouth, for _unfathomable_ reasons. But the blond swore that there was something, _something_ that kept sending a glare back. Or maybe his ‘tumor' was an _actual_ tumor now. Fuck.

 

That had to be it. It’s not like the blond thought Creep was actually attractive. That would be ridiculous. Yes, he’s going through a mental breakdown, but Kei isn’t that weak. If he was, even ‘ _jelly, jams and preserves’_ guy might have stood a chance. No...there’s something else at work here. Something more sinister.

 

Sorcery?

 

“Yeah. You see,” Creep started, taking a sip from a drink that Kei hadn’t noticed was there until he brought it to his mouth, wet pink lips sipping on the glass, forcing Creep to slowly lick his way across the flesh— _what the fuck, Kei! NO! Don’t get sucked into his weirdo voodoo magic. He’s obviously some sort of witch. That’s why you’re not thinking straight. Get it together or else you’ll find yourself being cut open by this man while he performs dark blood magic on your liver. Don’t let Creep distract you from the fact that Creep is being an actual_ _creep_ _. Okay, Kei? Okay_ _—_ “I’m trying to figure out how a guy like you—who I’m more than certain has never stepped foot inside this building before today—basically spellbound _every single person_ that I’ve been trying to hook up with for months, the _second_ you walked through the door. That’s some bullshit, man.”

 

HUH?

 

What the fuck. This was a trap, right? That couldn’t have been it...could it?

 

“Really?” The blond asked, to his own surprise. He found it quite odd that Creep would even _want_ to have any luck with anyone Tsukishima talked to during the party. Kei’s been tip-toeing around all the guest that he’s interacted with since he got here and Creep would have apparently loved to have been in his shoes.

 

Or maybe he wanted all their livers too.

 

Maybe Creep just has bad taste.

 

It could really go either way.

 

“Yeah, really!” Creep laughed, and it didn’t sound as annoying to Kei as it should have, "You even got Taihei-san to flirt with you. What the hell? I rolled myself around in poison ivy one time so he could give me a checkup!"

 

Creep wasn’t _just_ a creep, it would seem. He was also a moron. With nice lips.

 

“Did it work?” Kei asked, curious if he had succeeded. Of all the suitors, he had to agree that Taihei-san was the best out of the bunch. Tsukishima wasn’t sure if he should stay to hear how it all worked out or if he should go warn the dermatologist that he might possibly be Creep’s next victim.

 

Creep laughed, silky notes ringing in Kei’s ears like velvet on skin. Kei decided to stay and hear this witch’s story.

 

"Nah. He ended up passing me over to one of the nurses, who also didn't want to go out with me," Creep shrugged, rolling his head casually, "Whatever. She wasn't all that."

 

“Maybe you just can’t take a hint.” He let out a chuckle before he could stop himself, no doubt from finding some semblance of amusement in this man’s terrible luck at wooing said co-workers.

 

“So I’ve been told,” Creep sent another grin Kei’s way.

 

Turning his body to the bartender, Creep leaned forward asking for a shot of his choosing. Tsukishima took the time to actually take in the man, noticeably a few centimetres shorter than him, too baffled to have apparently noticed that before. But more importantly…

 

Creep actually looked very _very_ familiar. They must have crossed paths before.

 

But from where?

 

Creep’s hair over the undercut was obviously dyed, but that didn’t stop Kei from scrambling his head a million miles a minute trying his damndest to remember every blond he’s ever encountered, coming up with a short list if he dismissed any family. The (natural) blond also couldn’t help but notice that, based on how well and snug his expensive suit was, he was… well, quite fit.

 

Objectively speaking. Besides the fact that he was also intimidating.

 

Kei felt his eyes scan Creep over, looking at each detail that adorned this man like brushstrokes on a canvas. Wide steady hands with clean cut nails and a fancy looking watch on his right wrist. Polished shoes and cufflinks, unlike most of the younger stock at the party. Creep also had small black studs on his ears that made him come across as a delinquent, but Tsukishima couldn’t really fault him since it did help with his appeal (his overall unbiased appeal to _anyone_ , not just Kei). Creep’s chin was shaved and he looked like he used chapstick regularly, _obviously_. Sharp eyebrows that matched his dyed locks hovered over keen coffee-coloured eyes that—  

 

That were looking right into his own.

 

Before Kei couldn’t figure out how to either apologize for ogling observing or undo Creep’s witchery, the shorter man stopped him with a small glass of clear liquid in his hand towards the blond, offering the drink with an unfairly winning smile.

 

No. Just no. No way. Tsukishima didn’t trust the man, he couldn’t trust him. Not happening. He wasn’t just going to take a drink from a stranger, let alone some baffling witch who Kei’s certain is trying to lure him— _oh fuck, it’s already in his hand_.

 

Kei looked back and forth between the small glass in his grip back to Creep, unsure when the hell that happened. Eventually, the taller blond had enough sense to nod to Creep, saying a low _thank you_ under his breath. Tsukishima was half convinced the moment he downed the shot, Creep's coven was going to appear from a cloud of smoke.

 

There’s a lot of reasons he shouldn’t drink the shot:

  1. He’s 100% certain it’s poison.
  2. Shots and he don't get along—he hasn't exactly made the smartest decisions when it came to shots, this week alone being a perfect example.
  3. Creep is the one offering.



 

Regardless of the circumstances, Kei didn’t let strange men buy him drinks (and Creep is as strange as they get). And even if they do, Kei didn’t drink them. It’s been a solid rule since he started drinking. The one rule he lived by when he went out. He learned when he was younger that if you don’t see your drink being made, you don’t drink it.

 

Period.

 

And despite everything, a _certain...someone,_ that Kei couldn't recall, knew what he was talking about when he told his rules to the blond. So of course, his brain was still going to listen to him, no matter what, no matter who. Because this certain person spoke reason, and it was a sound rule, and it kept him safe. And whoever shared this rule with him probably, maybe, hopefully never wanted Kei to break it, since they were— _oh shit, it’s already down his throat_.

 

He hissed, scrunching his face tight. Before Tsukishima could stop himself, he slammed the small glass down onto the bar, half expecting Fukasawa to shove another in his face. Instead, he opened his eyes to see Creep grinning like mad, his own empty shot on the bartop.

 

“You just knocked it back, huh? I’m kinda surprised.”

 

"I've been practicing," Kei mused, unsure why he suddenly felt glad that he had taken the drink. His whole body seemed to have uncoiled, his shoulders less tense since he's gotten to the party. It was probably going to kill him or turn him into a toad. But Tsukishima still felt mostly human, same long limbs and pale skin and warming cheeks. Most of that was normal.

 

“Drink comes at a price, ya know.”

 

The taller blond frowned, confused about the concept of the supposedly open bar. Then he finally registered what Creep must have been talking about.

 

“To you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You could have mentioned that before I drank it,” cue classic Tsukishima eye roll.

 

“I know,” cue predictable Creep grin.

 

“What price, then?”

 

“Your company.”

  
  


“ _Pffffffffffffffft_ —that was so lame,” Kei laughed, hard. Not too loud, but he’d admit that he had trouble breathing for a minute or so. He clutched his gut to calm down, trying his best to remember when was the last time anyone had used a line that bad on him. It had definitely been a while.

 

“That one was—yeah, that just _sucked_ ,” Creep chuckled, rubbing the few tears from his eyes with the palm of his hand, a smile or two breaking from his lips, a quick glint coming from his mouth and catching Kei’s eye again.

 

“It was painful,” the blond corrected, finally able to take a solid breath. Once he was able to stop laughing completely, he turned back to Creep.

 

"So, what's your drink of choice?" Creep asked, signaling the bartender.

 

“Seeing as you love to guess,” Tsukishima jibed, a challenge ringing in his voice,  “why don’t you?”

 

“Really? I might get it wrong.”

 

“It’s whatever,” he said, surprising Creep with his nonchalance, and surprising himself too, “we’re already conversing, anyways.”

 

The shorter man nodded, pleased, before ordering two drinks from the bartender. He turned back to Tsukishima.

 

“C’mon. A little conversation isn’t too much to ask for, yeah?,” Creep asked, stepping towards the blond, elbow still on the bartop as two beers were placed in front of the pair, “Especially if it keeps you from attracting anyone else that I’ve put some hard-labour into, already.”

 

No, a little conversation wasn't too much to ask for, and Kei was more than willing to oblige. For some reason or other.

 

“Are you sure you don’t just want me for yourself?” Kei half-joked, lifting his beer to his mouth, hops bittersweet.

 

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you might be implying,” Creep smiled, teeth for days and paired with shining eyes. Mouth full of mirth and eyes glazed like waxy jasper, he seemed to have a diamond shining back at Kei with every laugh. Tsukishima only then realized that in few short minutes...he had now come to enjoy Creep’s company.

 

What kind of fucked up sorcery is this guy using, making Kei’s common sense fade away like steam?

 

“Sure you don’t,” Tsukishima answered, ignoring the spell induced blush he could feel climbing his neck at the sight of him.

 

“Besides,” Creep added, taking his eyes off the blond to roam around the party, the corners of his grin dropping, “it’s actually a nice break from talking to _another_ self-righteous doctor who’s bound to go on and on and _on_ about some life-altering procedure or how they changed modern medicine thanks to their goddamn egos.”

 

Creep seemed to have contempt for the guest as much as Tsukishima held disinterest. He wondered why.

 

“When it comes to their _medical genius_ ,” Creep air quoted, “you just can’t get them to shut the fuck up, ya’ know?” That much, Kei could agree with. “Just tired of listening to jackasses,” Creep hummed before turning back to Kei with playfulness around his eyes, “You’re not one of them, are you?”

 

"Jackass? Depends on who you ask." Creep laughed at that. "Doctor? No. Technically, I'm not a doctor yet." Creep stopped laughing. At first, Tsukishima worried if he had said something wrong ( _he'll worry about why he was even worried about that later_ ) but then Creep’s eyes looked like Christmas and he took another step forward—now only a dozen centimeters away from him. Close enough for Kei to touch, if he wanted to. The worry immediately slipped when Creep asked:

 

“Oh? Which hospital? Saiseikai Central? JCHO Takanawa? NTT Medical? Intern? Resident? Which specialty?”

 

The questions came quick and Creep’s voice rose an octave. Kei wanted to laugh again. A second ago, Creep had all the vibes of a smooth operator and now he stood before him like a carried away kid. Oh, man, _that face_. That face was unfair. Kei couldn’t deny Creep’s objectively good looking face but this, _this_ was better. Creep practically rustled like some fresh puppy with a new chew toy. Those shiny eyes grew tenfold, putting any shoujo heroine to shame, smile equally as ridiculous. He should be cringing by now, but Kei couldn’t find the desire to. It was endearing.

 

He blamed the voodoo.

 

“I’m an intern, but I’m not in the medical field,” Tsukishima specified, pleased that Creep was so curious. He had mentioned his profession a few times since he's arrived at the party but this was the first time it didn't sound like he was reading off a cue card.  

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

"Okay, so what field are you becoming a doctor in, pray tell?"

 

“Paleontology.”

 

“Like, dinosaurs?” Creep asked, eagerly. The blond then noticed the dozen centimetres they were apart vanished by half, pulled into his company’s breadth. Kei smelled leather. He only then realized that he had been the one leaning forward into Creep’s space, something he hated when others did to him.

 

“Technically, yes. But that’s just part of it,”  Kei said as he adjusted himself, figuring the other man would notice and do the same. Creep did notice, however, he stood his ground, still breathing Kei’s air. Still closer than he would usually allow a stranger to be. This guy must be an elite in his coven, he told himself, not even an ironclad-will keeps this guy away.

 

“And what part do you do?” the shorter man asked, but the blond was too busy watching his mouth. Parted rows of pearls hypnotized Tsukishima. Then he saw it, resting on his wet tongue—not a diamond, but a surgical steel barbell.

 

“What?” the blond asked intelligibly.

 

“What do you do in your field, Megane?”

 

 _Megane_. The teasing in his voice sounded familiar...but the blond couldn’t recall from where at the moment. He liked how it sounded coming out of Creep’s ornamented mouth. He wanted to hear more. He also wanted to know exactly _why_ he wanted to hear more, too.

 

“Biomechanic vertebrate paleontology,” he specified.

 

“Those are some hundred yen words right there,” Creep made a face Tsukishima figured was his way of asking for a more detailed definition.

 

“I basically study any old living thing with a backbone, or anything used, made by, or that affected anything with a backbone. For the most part, it’s fossils.”

 

“So...dinosaurs?”

 

"Technically, yeah. Sure. But honestly, it's mostly fossils of weird fish and sometimes feces," he explained, earning a very tense smile from Creep who looked strained yet still managed to look frustratingly handsome. Impossibly so, really. Fucking witch blood.

 

“Not all you thought it would be?” the shorter man asked, still trying not to make a grossed out face.

 

"No, but I pay my dues now, work my way up. It's fulfilling. To me, anyway."

 

As fulfilling as feces can get. Still, Kei had no regrets about it. Sooner or later doors will open—sooner even. Then he will have his pick of the litter of where he could go. He already had options; a university in Delhi, a research lab in Bavaria, and another in London working with graduate students. However, he always liked the idea of North America.

 

"I've started to handle bones, now," he tried not to smile thinking of how well he's done for himself. They don't let just anyone touch history. "It's pretty awesome."

 

“Wow, your face just lit up,” Creep pointed out, index finger right in front of his face, “that sounded almost _romantic._ ” Kei clicked his tongue, fighting his face back into place and the odd feeling in his chest.

 

“Whatever.”

 

“No, it’s—” Creep’s eyes softened, “—it’s cute.”

 

Tsukishima failed to fight down the blush caressing his ears. _Doomed from the start, Kei._

 

"But tell me," Creep asked, eyes half-lidded, "how does a dino doctor"—Kei rolled his eyes—"even get into the hospital mixer like this? It's _pretty_ exclusive, ya’ know.”

 

“I was invited.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Tsukishima saw a chance to finally take the lead in the conversation. The blond wanted to figure out this mystery man himself. He wanted answers to his questions too.

 

“Yes. But I think the real question here is how did someone like _you_ crash a hospital mixer? That’s kinda immature,” he taunted, his usual aloofness finally resurfaced, “This party is _pretty exclusive_ , ya’ know.”

 

Creep gave another thousand watt smile to Kei, the taller blond wishing he didn’t enjoy the attention this stranger kept giving him. What happened to the person who was ready to leave the party as quickly as he came?

 

“You think I crashed?” Creep egged him on.

 

“I’m pretty convinced,” he half-lied. It was a feasible possibility that Creep might have crashed, but Tsukishima wasn’t entirely positive. He had a theory or two of how this maddeningly charming guy just so happened to be present today, of all days, the only time Tsukishima would also be present.

 

“From where?”

 

Theory #1: “A coven.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” It wasn’t (— _completely, entirely, really, but kinda was_ —) a serious guess.

 

“Well, whatever it was, I’m sorry to inform you that I just so happened to be invited myself. No crashing whatsoever.”

 

“Sure,” Tsukishima teased, now half convinced he was right.

 

“Why don’t you have another guess, then?”

 

 _A test?_ Kei wondered.

 

No, not a test—a game.

 

Tsukishima liked games, puzzles especially. And Creep was a jigsaw. He could figure this out. The blond thought back to everything Creep had told him so far, anything that might have given him away. All he needed was a thread.

 

_“...a nice break from talking to another self-righteous doctor.”_

 

He sounded like someone who dealt with these sort of gatherings often.

 

_“I’m more than certain has never stepped a foot inside the building before today.”_

 

He’s at the hospital enough to notice and recognize other employees...and also casually hit on them enough to get used to rejection...and just so happened to get away with it.

 

_“Just tired of listening to jackasses.”_

 

He doesn't care for some of the more established guests. Maybe they brag. Maybe they brag to him? Why bother trying to impress a man who looked like a menace? Who might he be in the industry?

 

“ _Intern? Resident? Which specialty?_ ”

 

Not only had he been specific in his question, he had named a few other facilities as well. He knows them all, Kei was certain he did. But why would he need to?

 

Kei figured it out.

 

“You’re an investor.”

 

“Woah, really?”

 

 _He is really young, though_ , he thought.

 

“No—you're the _son_ of an important investor,” Tsukishima clarified.

 

“What an _interesting_ guess,” Creep smiled, “What makes you think that?” Tsukishima cleared his throat.

 

“Well, you said it yourself,” he started, “You don’t want to be here. The only reasons I could think of is because this party is more work than pleasure for you _or_ you're forced here against your will. Maybe by someone you respect. Maybe someone you speak for. Someone you can't really say no to," like a parent. God knows it takes all the willpower in the world for Kei to resist visiting home when his mother insists.

 

"But then I also took into account that you're here often enough to actually know the employees, and familiar enough that you feel it appropriate to come onto them—which, just letting you know, is not in the least bit _appropriate_ , but that's none of my business," he placated, "So yes, that's what I think."

 

He had looked everywhere else besides Creep during his explanation. He didn’t know why. Then Tsukishima finally faced him again. Wishing he could sucker punch Creep’s good looking mug, there was that signature smile of his waiting.

 

“Wow, kinda scary that you got all that from a few small comments I made,” Creep said, his eyes looking at Tsukishima’s. “Didn't think you'd pay attention so diligently.”

 

“I guess. But that would also explain why you’re mostly annoyed with some of the visiting doctors here. They’re just trying to impress you and you can see right through it.”

 

“And you’re not one who’s trying to impress me?” Creep asked. Cheeky bitch.

 

“I couldn’t care if you’re impressed,” Kei quipped, pleased with himself. He expected the grin that followed. Of course. He expected the sparkling eyes, sending the butterflies in his gut fluttering to the same frequency as his chest. But he also expected banter, a witty liner or gag. He didn’t expect a pause. He wasn't completely caught off guard, but still uneasy.

 

Creep looked like he was thinking of what to say, unlike his behavior so far of just spitting nonsense back at Kei. Creep looked like he wanted to take his time and say the right thing. Tsukishima's been losing his composure with all the wrong things so far, he's not sure his chest would be able to handle right thing—he's not entirely sure he's _ever_ been able to handle the right thing.

 

“And what if I am?” the shorter man spoke, finally. Words that made Kei’s insides knot. Confusing words that Kei didn't understand.

 

“‘What if you are’ what?”

 

“What if I'm impressed? By you?”

 

 _That_ , however, did catch Kei off guard. He didn't know Creep had the gall to say something so...sincerely forward. Kei felt nervous, unsure how he was supposed to answer. He’s known Creep for minutes— _minutes_ —but he was still a mystery.

 

And maybe the biggest mystery was why Kei’s so pleased to have impressed him. What does one say to something like that?

 

“Than I don’t understand how every other doctor couldn’t impress you. It’s apparently fairly easy.”

 

Creep laughed.

 

“That mouth of yours just doesn’t quit, does it?”

 

“It’s a talent.”

Pearls. Iridescent and frosted with a wicked upturn of his lips. Kei’s said the right thing, obviously, but this feeling he got from that smile felt wrong.

 

_(I’m forgetting something, I’m sure of it. But now is not the time. I’ll remember later. Now is now. I’m enjoying now. I want to stay here.)_

 

“I’m sorry,” Creep shook his head, tilting downwards. It was the first time since meeting that the witch looked unsure around Kei, “but I can’t help thinking that I know you from somewhere. Is that crazy?”

 

Yes, it was crazy. It was crazy how excited the blond felt that they had finally said something. Now that it's been said out loud, the thought was so obviously true. Tsukishima couldn't brush it off. This chance meeting seemed more than coincidence.

 

"I've been thinking the same," he said, certain that must have been a factor for not walking away yet. Tsukishima didn't do strangers. He was polite to them, he grew up to be painfully polite. But this man struck a chord. He was familiar, and not just because he reminded him of—

 

“Are you from Tokyo? Or go to school here?” Creep asked eagerly. Tsukishima cleared his throat.

 

“Did Uni here. Originally from up north.” Kei clarified. That got Creep’s attention.

 

“Where up north?”

 

“Miyagi.”

 

“Did you play volleyball?”

 

That caught Kei by surprise. Volleyball? Was that it?

 

“During Uni? Yes—”

 

“I meant back in Miyagi.”

 

Was it then? Back in days of his teenage fruition?

 

“Mmh,” he nodded, “MB. Karasuno.”

 

“Karasuno!” Creep all but yelped, “That’s where I know you!”

 

Karasuno? Tsukishima couldn't seem to recall this man from high school. Who was this man back then? Upperclassmen? Fellow alumni? If Kei couldn't remember him, how did Creep remember the blond? He wasn't all that impressionable back then, back when was barely more than a boy.

 

“We played against each other once. Back when I played for Johzenji.”

 

Then it clicked. Like a camera of the past. Tsukishima remembered watching him during the match—that annoying match against a team full of yellow uniforms and impossible plays. Jumping teammates and a captain full of spunk, who still looked very much the same, blond and undercut hair. Same winning grin. A gleam of light whenever he opened his mouth, reflected off a barbell.

 

Kei could have throttled himself from forgetting such a peculiar person, who hasn’t changed much since his time as a teenager. Though, boy no longer. Before him now stood a man. And man, oh man, what a man.

 

"I think we've done this whole thing backward. We never introduced ourselves. Even back then," Creep said, holding his hand for Kei to take, "Terushima Yuuji. Pleasure."

 

"Tsukishima Kei. Likewise, surprisingly," he added. Tsukishima took his hand, warm and steady and barely smaller than his own but his grip was sturdier. He felt his pulse skip, afraid the other man could feel it when he accidentally grazed his finger against Kei’s wrist. He hoped it was accidental.

 

He knew it wasn’t.

 

“So, Karasuno? You must know Yamaguchi then. And Koushi.”

 

Of course, the blond should have suspected that Cre—no, _Terushima_ —that Terushima would be well acquainted with his former teammate and best friend. The blond couldn’t help but wonder if Terushima’s been at the butt end of his friend’s rejections as well. Kei failed to hold back a smirk before replying.

 

“Sugawara-san was my senior. Yamaguchi is my best friend. He invited me, actually.”

 

"Yeah, I think I do remember him mentioning of bringing his friend along with Hitoka-chan. Not gonna lie," he said, tilting his head sideways in a daze, almost fantasizing, "I really hoped it would have been your former manager, the dark-haired Megane. She was _fiiiiine_.” 

 

Kei tried to keep his face as straight as possible.

 

“Disappointed?” he asked, wanting to mess with the witch. Terushima turned back to Kei. He shrugged, pretending to look far more let down than Kei suspected he really was.

 

“It’s a real heartbreak.”

 

“Sure.”

 

"I mean it," Terushima joked, trying to stop his face from breaking as well. Tsukishima could tell, "you were on a good-looking team."

 

“You really are a creep.”

 

“What? I mean, your former seniors still got it going on in the looks department. Your old captain is a babe and Koushi’s total husband material. If they were single,” Terushima let out a low whistle, making a face that almost, _almost_ , made Tsukishima’s demeanor crack.

 

“Ew, just stop. It’s getting sad again.”

 

“And honestly, Yams is pretty cute. I won’t even get started on Hitoka-chan. We’d be here all day. Your team had a lot of attractive people.”

 

“Minus me, though.”

 

“Yeah, just my luck,” Terushima blew a strand of dyed hair from his forehead, having trouble looking displeased by Kei’s own failing poker face, “Real shame you must have been. The ugly duckling of your team.”

 

“You can never catch a break, can you?”

 

"Actually, I think my luck may be finally turning a new leaf. Seeing as you're still here."

 

“I’m pretty sure I was the ugly duckling just seconds ago.”

 

“You must not own a mirror.”

 

“So  _now_ I’m worth the time,” the blond jibed, no longer hiding the smile he couldn’t control. Traitorous thing. Tsukishima expected some quick quip back from Terushima, some witty phrase or comeback on how the witch had to keep the game going or something along those lines. Tsukishima turned fully to his company. He was met with a stare, now stuck in silence.

 

Even caught, Terushima just stared, and smiled, and stayed silent—allowing Kei to stare right back and internally freak out about what kind of curse the shorter man was putting on him that was making Kei’s cheeks heat up so quickly all over again. Allowing Tsukishima to watch as Terushima let his own umber eyes travel south, slowly taking in the tall blond with patience and so much intensity that Kei swallowed back his instinct to think the worst.

 

“Turned out to be my mistake, now didn’t it,” Terushima met his eyes again with a coy smile, “Looked at all the flowers, but didn’t dig for the gems.”

 

So lame. Painfully cringy. He should really be mocked for that. But…

 

“You're embarrassing.” Tsukishima blushed. Terushima kept smiling.

 

The blond felt giddy. When was the last time he felt like that? Terushima spoke before Tsukishima could recall.

 

"I didn't see you with Yams or Hitoka most of the time, though," he said, obviously trying to change the subject. The blond could appreciate that Terushima must have noticed just how overwhelmed Tsukishima was with all this...whatever this interaction was. The witch even took a step back from him, giving him space that he preferred from strangers. Well, usually preferred.

 

“No, they were parading me. Like a bachelorette.” Terushima’s eyes lit up again.

 

“You’re the one he was trying to set up?” he asked, dazzled. He must have heard of Yamaguchi’s matchmaking attempts, too.

 

“Please tell me he didn’t try to wrangle you in, too,” Kei groaned, now feeling a new sense of embarrassment.

 

“No, he didn’t,” Terushima whined, catching Kei’s attention, “And now, I’m actually a little mad that they didn’t even ask me. I’m fucking dope.”

 

“Normally, I’d joke that my friends have better taste than to ask you,” the blond shuddered just thinking about everyone else he was forced to speak to, “but they really don’t. So count yourself lucky you weren’t included in the pack of first-rate lemons.”

 

“That does help. Now I’m only _a little bit_ offended,” Terushima offered, looking more than pleased with himself, “Still upset. Could have been wooing you early on.”

 

Tsukishima was almost impressed that someone could be this overconfident without merit. Well, someone else besides Oikawa. But that’s Oikawa for you.

 

“What makes you think you’re wooing me now?” Tsukishima asked.

 

“Well, after watching you—”

 

“You mean creeping on me.”

 

“ — _watching,”_ Terushima stressed, “intently as you hooked every one of my potential dates, I noticed something.”

 

“What?”

 

"They all lasted around five minutes, six if they were lucky."

 

“And?”

 

“I’ve lasted 14 and a half.”

 

This witch actually kept track of their conversation. Tsukishima couldn’t believe he actually thought this guy was intimidating. What a loser.

 

“You’re too full of yourself. I’m here to steer clear of a lot unwanted thirst. You just so happen to be a natural repellent to most when it comes to hospital romance.” That earned him a pout from the shorter man. The taller blond felt an unwelcome impulse to poke Terushima’s taunting mouth for making that face. Tsukishima pushed the urge down and brought his hands to his drink, just in case.

 

“That was too cold.”

 

“I found it funny,” Tsukishima grinned.  

 

“You’re a brat,” Terushima smirked, the kind of smirk that made Kei wish his nerves could behave themselves already.

 

“You never told me, by the way,” Tsukishima tried to derail into safer territory, hoping it would work.

 

“About what?”

 

“How you got into the party. But mostly, I want to know how you don’t seem to get in trouble by the numerous harassment occurrences you seem keen on,” the blond grinned, hoping to keep the interrogation light enough to look like an innocent conversation.

 

Terushima gave him a smile, looking torn between actually giving Kei a decent answer or continuing to keep him guessing.

 

“My dad is the Chief of Surgery,” was probably the last thing Tsukishima expected to hear from him. Terushima looked sheepish, his shoulders almost meeting his ears. Tsukishima thought it charming, because he was now—after only minutes— okay with admitting that Terushima might just be a little charming. A little.

 

“Well shit. Not sure I would report you either,” the blond teased, far more relaxed now that Terushima was the one who seemed rattled instead of himself. Kei could give him some slack, but he didn’t, even if Terushima was stuck playing nice at his own father’s party.

 

“It’s not like that at all. I’m very respectful,” the shorter man tried to defend, failing as he pouted again.

 

“Sure you are.”

 

"I am, I swear," Terushima laughed, sighing heavily as he tried to tell Kei how he's well-mannered and doesn't push other people, unlike how he had described to the blond earlier. Tsukishima might have believed him, if he didn't have a first-hand account of the man asking if he was a porn fluffer.

 

“So that’s it then?”

 

“What’s it?”

 

“Why you don’t like distinguished doctors,” Kei clarified, “Because they only try to impress you because of your father.”

 

"Sure. Maybe," Terushima took a drink of his beer. Tsukishima thought of holding back what he wanted to say until after Terushima put down his glass...Nah.

 

“But what’s the worst part? Is it the ass kissing or daddy issues?”

 

Terushima choked on his beer, wiping his mouth before he half coughed and laughed. Kei joined him, shaking his head, waiting for the shorter man to get his wits about him, knowing he’d enjoy wherever it led when he did.  

 

“Little of both,” he said before breaking off into a grin, a sultrier one then what he’s given Tsukishima before, melting the blond’s entrails, “Though, I rather enjoy doing the ass kissing myself,” he said boldly, looking straight at Kei to make sure he couldn’t misinterpret, “in private. Of course.” He winked.

 

Tsukishima would be an idiot if at this point in their conversation he couldn't see that they were flirting (yes, both of them, for a while now) very openly. And he would be lying if he said that he wasn't enjoying it. Surprisingly—but enjoying it nonetheless.

 

“You’re foul,” was all Tsukishima said. He watched Terushima bite his bottom lip, his grin still visible.

 

“You still haven't walked away though,” the witch pointed out, “And I know Nakae pulled his gross proctology zinger on you. I saw it on your face. So I must be doing something right.”

 

He was doing more than just _something right_ , if you asked Kei.

 

“You _were_ watching me, then.”

 

“Duh. I thought we already established that,” he said, shining barbell glinting back again. Tsukishima wanted to joke around, maybe about how creepy Terushima really did portray himself (maybe the main reason he didn’t have any luck wooing any hospital employees). But there had been something gnawing at the blond since they’ve grown comfortable, something that weighed more than curiosity but less than complaint.

 

“So what was the real reason you came up to me?”

 

"Besides wanting to see the aftermath of the whole crash with Ari-chan and your tie?"  Now it was Tsukishima's turn to pout, feeling the past embarrassment from his run-in with the girl. And still upset over his tie—he loved that tie. Still, he wanted an answer.

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. And don’t change the subject.”

 

“I already told you” Terushima claimed, unconvincingly, “I was trying to feel you out, see what everyone else apparently saw.”

 

“I mean the real reason,” Tsukishima rebutted immediately, sounding too tender to touch, watching Terushima’s smile falter at his tone. They were no longer flirting. Kei didn’t want to sound accusatory, but something inside him was just hoping that their encounter had been more than a whim on Terushima’s part. Kei was tired of being a whim (he couldn’t remember who's at the moment).

 

Tsukishima didn’t want to be a whim, no more than a coincidence—he wanted something else entirely. Not knowing what Terushima might say, Kei waited. He watched the shorter man rub his neck, kissing his teeth as he stared off from Tsukishima's face. Then he finally turned back, taking a breath.

 

“Um,” he started, “Look, I didn’t—I mean, I don’t really know you. But I saw how you were around everyone. You looked like you were kinda stuck in your head. I mean, now talking to you, you seem like someone who’s probably in their head all the time. And that’s cool, and I wouldn’t think anything else of it, but...” he trailed off.

 

“But?” Tsukishima tried to press. Terushima looked him in the eye, sighing.

 

“But you looked…lonely.”

 

Terushima breathed it out, but as he did, he smiled—smiled so sweetly to Kei.

 

Was there ever anyone who smiled so sweetly at him like that? Maybe...but he couldn't place a face. Yet here was this man, essentially a stranger, who did. Maybe he was just polite to strangers like Kei was. Maybe it was pity. Tsukishima wasn't convinced that was the case. This smile felt lighter. It felt like second chances.

 

“So I figured that it wouldn’t do any harm to maybe say a thing or two to you. It’s none of my business...but was I right?”

 

Yes. Tsukishima wasn't in a place to deny any longer. He had accepted it earlier in the week, desperate to fill the aching feeling that he couldn't replace with a pathetic display in Aoki's entranceway. Earlier in the year when he couldn't think of the word to describe how he felt when he had talked to Akaashi. Now that it's been said out loud (spoken into the universe that loved to make the blond feel small from time to time) Kei felt relieved.

 

This ache in his chest had a name.

 

“Maybe,” Tsukishima sighed. Terushima looked as if he didn’t like whatever face he was making. So the witch took his place right next to Tsukishima again, taking a step forward, entering his space once again. Tsukishima let him.

 

“Do you still feel that way?”

 

No. Yes? _Yes_ , yes he did. Tsukishima understood that feeling wouldn’t disappear overnight. Not after what felt like years. But even if he felt lonely, he wasn’t alone at the moment. Here, where he stood he wasn’t alone. Here, close enough to touch Terushima if he wanted to. Maybe that was enough for now.

 

“Maybe not right now.”

 

What about later?

 

 _Think about it later_ , Tsukishima hummed to himself, _not now. For now, for now…_

 

For now, he wanted to know if Terushima felt light around Tsukishima, too. They locked eyes, heavy stares feathered in hues of warmth, looking back at one another. Kei felt hot air meet his mouth, Terushima’s breath dancing along his skin. Terushima was about to say something when his eyes shifted over Tsukishima's shoulder, immediately turning the corners of his opulent smile.

 

“Fuck,” he said, confusing the blond.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“No, no. My,” Terushima backpedaled, putting space between them again as he scooted away. Tsukishima was alarmed until the witch pointed behind him, back towards the party, and said, “my dad is calling me over,” he grimaced, “I’ve been away from the guest for too long. He’s trying to beckon me back to the Raisin Bran Bunch.”

 

Tsukishima took the chance to look over his shoulder, immediately catching the man of the hour, whose party was still going on around them. He looked very much like his son, same sharp face and athletic build. But where the witch had smile and laugh lines, his father had deep wrinkles sailing across his forehead, making his frown look that much more intense. He could pass for an evil blood wizard, no doubt the head of the coven his company belonged to. The blond turned back to the shorter man.

 

“He looks mad.”

 

“That’s just his face,” Terushima stated matter-of-factly, trying to hang onto their previous good mood by the tethers. Tsukishima could help.

 

"His face looks mad," he teased, which earned a return of his company's now notorious smile. He let out a chuckle before he replied.

 

"Nah, not mad. It's more of a combination of disappointment and distaste. You get used to it," Terushima shrugged, pushing his now empty beer glass away and straightening out his suit of any wrinkles. Kei felt his fingers fidget.

 

“You should be heading back,” he said, regardless if Terushima already had one foot out the door of this conversation. He looked just as pleased as Kei.

 

“I should have headed back ten minutes ago,” Terushima said, as if he was letting Tsukishima in on a secret. “Oh well.”

 

“Well, thank you for the drinks. Even if they were free,” Kei farewelled. The blond didn’t care if the blush on his cheeks was seen. Terushima grinned, no doubt pretending not to notice.

 

“Well thank you for the company. Even if it was far too brief.”

 

They shook hands, and Terushima brisked passed him.

 

And with that, Kei felt like himself again in an instant. Feelings of restlessness returned tenfold, the default weight fitting back onto his shoulders. After a small distraction from a blast from the past, Tsukishima now had to retrace his steps into the aching feeling that was his life of bitter vacancy. The distraction was nice while it lasted, but Kei knew that it wasn’t enough.

Whatever their brief, bizarre encounter was, it just wasn't enough. He wanted more. Hell, he'd give his liver, kidney, and bone marrow for whatever feeling Terushima seemed to fill his chest with. Voodoo, and all. Tsukishima wanted more.

 

He hadn’t felt like this since—

“Tsukishima.”

 

The blond turned his head, facing back towards the party. Terushima was a few feet away, still too far for Tsukishima’s liking, stretching his arm out to the taller man. Tsukishima looked down his arm towards his hand, noticing a small white rectangular paper held between his fingers.

 

"My card," Terushima offered. Tsukishima didn't hesitate to grab the paper, fingers brushing briefly. Quickly, Tsukishima reached into his own breast pocket, plucking out a piece of paper he hadn't felt the need to give anyone else. He held it out towards Terushima.

 

“And mine,” he offered. The witch quickly grabbed it, bringing it to his face as he examined it carefully. Turning it front and back, he smiled. He looked back up towards Kei.

 

“Do you answer calls?”

 

"Depends on who calls," Tsukishima said.

 

Terushima grinned, saluting with Kei’s card in his hand before turning around. Kei called back before he could take a step.

 

“Terushima-san?” The witch immediately turned back, eagerness laced along his eyes and a smile on his face, because of-fucking-course there would be.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Coffee. Coffee is my drink of choice,” Kei confessed, smiling back. Terushima nodded, looking pleased.

 

“Noted,” he said finally heading back towards the Raisin Bran Bunch. Tsukishima held onto the smile a while longer, deciding to study the piece of paper still in his hand.

 

When he caught sight of the hospital’s MD insignia on the backside of the card, his eyebrows met his hairline.

 

He’s a doctor? At the hospital?

 _Well, fuck me sideways_.

 

Which now thinking about it...is a much better explanation as to why Terushima might have been at the party.

 

_Fucking genius, Kei._

 

Tsukishima decided to brush off his moment of stupidity as nothing more than a classic blond moment. Curious, he flipped the card. This time, he felt his eyebrows reach the back of his neck. On the front of the card, along with the hospital address and personal phone extension, it read:

 

**Terushima Yuuji M.D.**

**_Neurosurgery Resident_ **

 

Tsukishima immediately looked back up towards the man, only for Terushima to already be looking his way. As Kei's jaw hung open, the witch winked wickedly before turning back towards the guests he was speaking to. Kei could have died right then, wondering why the universe mocked him in the most peculiar ways. He jumped when he heard a voice next to him.

 

“You really stick to a type, don’t you?”

 

Tsukishima turned, immediately relaxing once he recognized Yachi standing next to him. She looked at him knowingly, and he didn’t acknowledge what she had said.

 

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

 

“You’ve given me no other choice,” he said, “You have horrible taste in men.” She squeaked and he chuckled at her. Like siblings.

 

“Hey, I got Tadashi, didn’t I?” she defended. Tsukishima smiled.

 

“You got very lucky. The both of you.” He meant it. She returned his smile, hers more natural than his own, years of practice and perfection that he hadn’t found the time for.

 

"You should go say goodbye, at least," the small blond henpecked. Tsukishima then slipped the card still in his hand into his pocket, for safe keeping.

 

“Yes, mother.” She squeaked again.

 

Tsukishima found his old teammates first, saying a polite, but warm farewell to them. After that, he went off to thank and bid farewell to every horrible suitor that he was forced to converse with. Goodbye to Suitor## 1 through 10. Minus #5, though, he skipped that fucker. The goodbyes were quick and indifferent... unlike his could-have-been-Suitor#11, a number that’s always been good to him.

 

When he finished his rounds, he found Yamaguchi, a worn smile tilted on his freckled cheeks. He gathered Kei into his arms first, patting his shoulders.

 

“Sorry about today,” he sounded sincere. Kei appreciated that. “Will we see you tomorrow for breakfast?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, probably. I’ll text you later?” the blond offered. He felt Yamaguchi squeeze his arms before letting go.

 

“Yeah. Get home safe, Tsukki.”

 

Tsukishima nodded and made his way out of the hospital. When he made it outside the front entrance, he checked his phone for the first time in hours, realizing how late it had gotten, sunset only half an hour away. When he unlocked the screen, he was surprised to see a few messages waiting for him.

 

One text from Akaashi, wondering when would be best for Kei to do dinner this week. One text from Yachi, asking if he wanted a homemade breakfast or if he wanted them to eat out. And one last text, from an unknown number.

 

Kei opened the message, feeling the smallest wind of a flutter in his stomach. The feeling grew when he read:

 

_Unknown:_

 

_\- Hey! Let me know when you’re about to leave. I have a proposition for you. This is Teru, btw. -_

 

Doomed. Absolutely doomed.

Kei texted back immediately, saying that he was literally exiting the grounds. He didn't have to wait more than a minute before he got a reply, asking him to stay where he was.

 

Tsukishima decided to stay and wait for the witch.

 

While he waited, Kei turned back to his phone, saving the number and editing his newest contact. When he started to type out the name, he paused. The blond bit his lip, contemplating. In the end, he gave into his temptation. He looked back after he had saved everything.

 

**_New Contact Saved — Teru-san_ **

 

Tsukishima caught himself smiling. He immediately lifted his head when he heard quick steps coming towards him. He watched as Terushima calmy jogged to a stop next to him, letting out a small puff of air.

 

“You actually waited?” the doctor asked, looking a little surprised that Tsukishima had, indeed, waited for him. The blond shrugged, bringing up a smile that’s become easier and easier to give throughout his time with the shorter man.

 

“I wanted to hear your proposition,” Tsukishima casually fibbed.

 

“Ah, yes, well,” Terushima said, rubbing his hands together. A nervous tick that the blond hadn’t noticed until now. Kei logged that bit of information for later, “it’s about coffee.”

 

"What about coffee?" he asked, wondering if Terushima was offering coffee now.  Yes, Kei really liked coffee but he wasn't a nighttime coffee drinker. It left him too jittery to sleep.

 

"Well, I was wondering," the shorter man scratched his chin, looking towards the ground with a shy smile, then he shook his head, dyed locks caught by the motion, "and feel free to say no, but... I was wondering," he huffed, finally looking at Tsukishima. His blush was almost as bright as Kei's, "if you would like to get drinks now. With me..."

 

Yes. Without question. I mean, he waited outside of the hospital for the guy right? Yeah, he would get drinks with him. Not shots, though. Not again. Before he could accept the offer, Terushima took a breath, obviously not finished.

 

“...so...drinks now. And then coffee...in the morning.”

 

Oh. _Oh_ . it was _that kind_ of proposition...Um…hm.

 

Well...You know what—

 

“Yes,” Tsukishima accepted, “yes.” Terushima looked surprised but pleased.

 

_Holy shit, I’m going home with an actual witch._

 

“Alright, cool,” he smiled fully, the barbell glinting every now and then as he tried to find words for Kei’s honest answer, “that went a lot better than I thought.”

 

"Hospital rejections leave you traumatized?" Kei couldn't help himself, enjoying the new shade on the shorter man's face. Tsukishima quickly moved away as Terushima tried to poke his forehead, then his gut, for making fun of him. They shared a few laughs before straightening up again.

 

"Are you even allowed to leave yet?" the blond asked, wondering if the Chief of Surgery's face could get any more crabby knowing his own son ditched his party.

 

“Meh,” Terushima shrugged, “I’ll figure something out if I have to.” He then pointed off towards the right. “There’s a chill place a few blocks that way. Good prices. You interested?” he asked Kei, who nodded.

 

“Lead the way.”

 

They walked side by side towards the bar (and towards a night that might be the first to come), occasionally bumping shoulders as they began to talk. And all the while, Kei couldn’t look away from the company he was keeping. Terushima really was a sight.

 

He wasn’t pretty, not in the soft ways Tsukishima appreciated.

 

He wasn’t stunning in ways that Kei noticed, with obvious radiance and unfair beauty.

 

He had something else. When Kei looked at Terushima, he saw something he’s been thirsting for, hungry for. For the easy clever banter, charming debonair smiles, for laughter that filled Kei’s lungs with fire, and wild stares that took the blond out of his own head for a moment.

 

This man that he had only crossed paths twice, conversed only once, yet had filled him with desire and fool's paradise a number of times in their short time together. He had a migration of butterflies inside him that made him feel like he could fly when he was around Terushima.

 

In the short encounter, Terushima had made Kei feel special and he wasn’t ready to go let go and feel lonely tonight. And maybe not tomorrow, either. Or the next day. Tsukishima was willing to be selfish in order to feel special. He knew his worth now. He deserved special.

 

What stopped him from feeling this way for so long, again?

 

He couldn’t remember at the moment.

 

 _Not here,_ he reasoned _, worry about that later. Think about it later._

 

_Enjoy now._

 

 

**Yachi**

 

 

 

When the couple finally left the mixer long after sunset, the first thing Yachi did was check her phone, finding only one message from Tsukishima.

 

_Tsukki ||눈_눈|||:_

 

_\- Sorry, have to cancel on breakfast. -_

 

She smiled as she and Tadashi found seats on the train, quickly asking the tall blond to text her when he gets home safely. In the past, she might have worried about coming across as too nosy, but Tsukki had known her long enough to know that her maternal meddling was a sign of her love. A trait that had bloomed and flourished since she got together with Tadashi. So when they were climbing the stairs to their place, she was love-bound to give him all potential need-to-know information regarding their favorite blond headache.

 

“You’re positive?” he asked incredulously, shimmying the keys into the lock before pushing the door to their flat open.

 

"Yes," Yachi nodded, walking in and slipping off her strappy shoes on their gekan, making haste as she tucked her bare feet into her fuzzy bunny slippers. She felt Tadashi draw back her coat, guiding it off of her shoulders and onto a coat hanger, letting her keep him in suspense as she untied her scarf. "Positive as pie."

 

“Really?” he asked for the fifth time.

 

“Yes. Really,” she repeated for the fifth time. Her grin grew when Tadashi frowned marginally.

 

“Terushima Yuuji?” the brunet grumbled. She doubted he was grumpy over the fact that it was _Terushima Yuuji,_ the infamous flirt of the Tokyo General Hospital who had been the one to finally woo Tsukki after all these years. Tadashi was probably grumpy because he hadn’t thought of it first. Tsukki’s type had always been those with questionable personalities (questionable, not _bad, just,_ different, in a good way, at some angles). All the ‘suitors’ they chose all had unique personalities. Terushima should have fit the bill perfectly.

 

“The one and only.” She had been tracking Tsukki down at the time, to make sure he didn’t ditch the party, when she saw he and Terushima take a shot together (much to her astonishment). She stayed long after, watching the kindling between them from behind a pile of dirty dishes, until it was safe to approach the taller man long,  _long_ after she first spotted him.   

 

Yachi had been pleasantly confused. But she didn’t pout about it as much as Tadashi insisted on doing.

 

“And Tsukki _didn’t_ punch him in the face?”

 

“He actually looked like he was enjoying his company,” she said. As she hung her scarf she felt the familiar rumble in her stomach, the one that’s been bothering her for the past half hour. She turned into the apartment.

 

 _“Tsukki?”_ he asked still.

 

“Is it really so hard for you to imagine him—your best friend, I might add—actually having a nice time once in a while?” she teased, beelining to the bathroom she’s been aching to use since she stepped on the train. She lifted the seat cover as she heard her boyfriend whine.

 

“It’s hard to imagine he’s having a supposed nice time with _the_ Terushima Yuuji," he said from what sounded like the kitchen, far enough away that she felt comfortable enough to relieve herself. She hiked up her skirt with one hand and pulled down her underwear with the other and sat. Grateful that after half an hour of stinging pressure in her gut she was finally—

 

Tadashi decided right then and there that he should walk into the bathroom, knowing full well she was indisposed. She clenched up, stopping all action down under as he casually made his way past her and to the tub along the adjacent wall.

 

“And seriously, Tsukki’s a scientist. You would think he would be able to catch a pattern with his dating life,” he pulled the curtain open and bent over, twisting the far knob as warm water spilled out, “especially such a bad one.”

 

Yachi continued to sit on her throne, her knees pressed together as her boyfriend checked the temperature of the water, turning the knobs this way and that. All the while, her stomach began to sting. Once Tadashi was perfectly satisfied, he shook off the extra water from his fingers and turned to her, taking a seat at the lip of the tub. She had hoped that when he noticed her...state, he would excuse himself with an apology but he just sat there and smiled at her.

 

She didn’t need his smile, she needed him to skedaddle! Her gut began to squeeze her insides. Yachi must have made a face because Tadashi immediately looked concerned.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Yachi had half a mind to kick him. She had business to attend to but he was making that impossible for her. Well, technically, she could just do it anyways...but then… She pouted, clutching her arms around her middle, trying to keep the intestine monster growing inside her quiet. Her knees began to prickle from being too pressed together. Tadashi scrunched his eyebrows together. She could just tell him she didn’t want him there, but then he would ask her why and they would have such an embarrassing time the rest of their night. And honestly, this went deeper than going to the bathroom.

 

Yachi knew what she wanted to say but the words were stuck behind her teeth. She had her doubts for weeks now.

 

“It’s like you’re not concerned with keeping the romance alive _at all_ ,” she muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. And now thoroughly in pain.  

 

At some point in time, Tadashi had made her think that he...wasn’t as invested anymore. Sure, they were never these sex-crazed animals before but where did the spark go?

 

At first, she thought she was being ridiculous, being her usual self that insisted on seeing things that weren't there. She tried to brush it aside, but the feeling kept creeping up. The blonde tried to remain normal, same daily routines and daily rituals. But her anxiety wouldn't let her forget her new found insecurity, festering slowly. Yachi had even caught herself with locks of her own hair in her grip, too nerve-wracked to notice she was yanking it.

 

But c’mon, what the heck, Tadashi? Her own _mother_ didn’t even walk in on her when she was using the washroom. This was not okay. The blonde was a champ at white-knuckling things, but she couldn’t really be expected to keep quiet all the time, especially when a bearable scruple became a fixation.

 

Yachi watched Tadashi’s scrunched eyebrows shift, one now arched in confusion. She clarified.

 

“You don’t get the impression sometimes that we’ve… I don’t know, that we’ve gotten too comfy with each other?” He tilted his head like a bird.

 

“I’m lost,” he said.

 

 _I feel unattractive and you’re not helping!_ she could have said. Simple enough words that would have made him understand that she was afraid he...would grow tired of her.

 

She kinda always knew he _might_ have eventually, but in the last few months, he's grown distant enough to spook her. And the blonde couldn't figure out why. Yachi hoped that over the years she would grow a bit more independent and self-assured with her...nerves. But then when she went shopping with Kiyoko a few weeks before Christmas and they had passed by that wedding boutique on the way to lunch—

 

_“Hitoka-chan, are you really going to do this?”_

 

_Yachi turned from the window, where she was caught staring at the mannequins standing elegantly wrapped with lace and beads running along the fabric of their gowns. She looked at her friend, who looked just as elegant in her long winter coat, and frowned._

 

_“Do what, Kiyoko-san?” she asked, confused. Did Kiyoko think she was going to buy a dress from there? No way, Jose. She still had some Christmas shopping to do and those dresses looked on the pricier side. Then suddenly the raven answered._

 

_“Wait around.”_

 

_Yachi felt her face scrunch up more, now definitely stumped. The older girl sighed, slightly shaking her head as she took a step forward and placed her hands on the blonde’s shoulders. She looked like she was hesitating, like she was unsure about the words she wanted to say. Yachi tried not to worry herself as Kiyoko bit her bottom lip before finding the resolve to look back into her eyes._

 

_"I just don't want you to feel disappointed," she said. She took another breath, her eyes darting back to the window display quickly before shifting back to Yachi's own. The blonde felt Kiyoko's fingers press slightly harder on her coat. "Yamaguchi doesn't seem to be in a rush to take your relationship to the...next level."_

 

 _Oh._ **Oh.** _Well…_

 

_“It just concerns me, is all,” she finished, taking her hands back, but still close. It was Yachi’s turn to look away._

 

_Sure, she’s thought about a wedding. Who hasn’t? But..she had never quite...noticed anything odd about her own marital status. Or, really, non-marital status. She was in a healthy relationship, a thriving one at that. Secure, comforting, and serious. For seven lovely...long...years…_

 

_“Why rush...anything...” Yachi felt her face heat up, her fingers twitching as she resisted the urge to bring them to her scalp. She had never really thought anything wrong about that. They just weren’t the kind of couple to rush anything. They just took their time. Maybe…_

 

_Oh my goodness. What if they end up going at snail's pace like Hinata?_

 

_Kiyoko cleared her throat, making Yachi tilt her eyes. When she did, the older girl took the chance to slip her hand beneath the blonde’s chin and lift her face. Yachi stared at her friend's eyes, catching urgency and a genuine shine._

 

_“I just don’t want you to be in a relationship that’s going nowhere,” she whispered, “I’ll be there for you no matter what…” The raven gave a small, hesitant smile. “Just think about it, okay?”_

 

“Hitoka?”

 

The blonde jumped, remembering why exactly Tadashi's aloofness towards something as mundane as going to the bathroom worried her so fiercely. It's like he didn't see the point of keeping any fire between them going.

 

She felt a hard sting again, hard enough that she shut her eyes. When she opened them, she figured she'd just ask Tadashi to leave so she can ‘go’ in peace. But when she looked at him, he wasn't looking at her face. His eyes were lower, near her torso. Worried, she looked down, slowly realizing that the earlier sting wasn't from her bothered intestines. She had pinched the inside of her arm raw with her nail and had broken skin.  

 

Before she could react Tadashi had grabbed a towel from the side of the bath, dabbing it into the warm water and immediately leaning forward to press it into her arm. He looked up, worry-filled eyes finding her own. She tried to pull away, bottom still trapped on the toilet.  

 

“I’m sorry, nevermind,” she muttered, her breath already shaking, her eyes snapped shut, absolutely mortified, “I’m sorry, just please, I need, please, can you just ge—”

 

"Hey," her eyes opened at the warm feeling, blinking a few times before she realized her forehead was pressed to his own, her hand that was a little stained with blood held against his chest, a pulse beating against it, "Please. Tell me what’s wrong," she heard him yearn, “I’m worried.”

 

God, she didn't deserve him. She didn't only have a gift for making herself a burden, she had to go and upset her boyfriend, too. Her perfect boyfriend who was sweet, patient, understanding, maybe incredibly overwhelmed, maybe incredibly done with her shit, maybe—

 

_“Hitoka.”_

 

She looked into sweet pools of olive and thought she would cry. How could she confess that—

 

“I get the feeling sometimes you don't think of me as—” _someone you could seriously see spending your life with because I’m such a mess_ —“sexy,” she mumbled, holding back what was lying beneath the surface. She felt his forehead crease, no doubt worrying him more. Maybe if she tried to explain—

 

"The thing is, you've been acting different lately. And working a lot more than usual," she said, only pausing to take a shallow breath, "And it's been so long since we've had a date night or anything. And we usually do friend projects together and you waited so long to get me into your plan with Tsukki, and then," she was rambling. She knew she was, but she couldn't stop. If she stopped she might overthink things and embarrass herself again, and think the worst again, and Tadashi will make more of his worry faces and she would feel even worse, and, "Also, I was talking to Kiyoko-san and I didn't bring you up, you just popped into the conversation organically, naturally—locally farmed kind of natural, okay—and then Kiyoko-san said that a partner should not only make you feel loved but sensual, and I'm not hubba hubba or anything, but still I think—"

 

“ _Hitoka_ ," he interrupted harshly, no doubt to stop her from spiraling into a panic attack. She took a moment to collect herself before she looked at him. He took a deep breath and said, " just so you know and have a 100% certainty about it, I find you _very_ sexy.”

 

It wasn’t really the problem, but still—

 

“Really?” she asked.

 

He answered in her favorite way.

 

He smiled, his speckled cheeks growing pink as he kept her eyes trapped in his own.

 

“How could I ever resist you?” he asked, grinning like he was sixteen again. Then he looked down towards her feet and she blushed like she was sixteen again, too. “Especially with _Ponyo_ panties," that he bought for her, by the way, "you make it hard for me." They shared a smile. Yachi could feel all the harboring doubts she'd been feeding crumble before her. She felt shame, wondering why she allowed herself to doubt one of the most stable and best things in her life. She moved to kiss him—

 

 **_GGGHLRRGRUHRHRHHHRRGRLLLLGLRRRR_** _._

 

“............................................Tadashi?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You would find me sexy no matter what?”

 

“No matter what. I promise.”

 

“Even if I have to poop?”

 

He ducked his head back, a funny smile stretching his lips, obviously caught by surprise from her blunt word. She heard him laugh before he nodded.

 

“Yes,” he assured her. He still sat in front of her for a few more seconds before she tried to bulge her eyes at him, hoping he understood her random and urgent choice of words. After a second, she watched his eyebrows jump in question.

 

“Do you?” he asked, hoping the vague words were enough. She could only nod vigorously, wondering how many seconds she had left before she lady parts took the driver wheel away from her.

 

“Kinda,” she said, until a very painful snap squeezed her from the hell within, “Actually, yes. Really _really_ badly.”

 

Without any more words, Tadashi grabbed her opposite hand and pressed it against the towel still on her arm before he straightened up and marching out the door, calling from the other side, "Let me know when you're done, I got you new bubbles."

 

When the door closed, a loud groan ripped through her, seeking revenge.

 

She went a little overboard with the matches, basically lighting half of the tiny box before unlocking the door and slipping into the tub. When her boyfriend walked back in he didn’t mention anything.

 

She really had a keeper.

 

Tadashi had walked towards her with a bubblegum pink bottle in his hand. He bent against the edge of the tub, trying to keep his gaze only on top of the surface as he uncapped the bubbles and spilled it in. He was being too trepidation for her liking. He looked up at the ceiling as he glided his hand across the water, bubbles rippling in his wake. Yachi could tell he was making sure not to glide to close to her.

 

She really knew how to make a mess of things.

 

She was also getting really good at worrying Tadashi.

 

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, surprising him enough that he looked at her. She knew she was blushing, but didn't stop. The blonde brought his hand towards her and lifted his palm to her firetruck painted face. She didn't hesitate as she kissed the back of his hand, gently.

 

Yachi was too embarrassed to look anywhere but his hand, biting the inside of her cheek. Then she felt his hand slip from her hold, moving off her hand past her wrist until it landed close to the scratch near the inside of her elbow. He brought her arm out of the water, bubbles still on the skin as he scooted closer and kissed the lesion. Yachi didn’t pull away, even from the dull pain. Tadashi lifted his lips and rubbed the scratch with a towel.

 

“Do you think,” he started, hesitant, “we could talk about it? And about Matsukawa-san’s friend he recommended?”

 

Yachi felt her cheeks grow redder. She supposed she worried him enough to warrant the question. And seeing the doctor at the party today must have factored in. Yachi had thought about, she had, but...

 

“I still haven’t decided,” she whispered meekly, hoping that would be answer enough. Then, Tadashi only nodded, any willpower to argue with her gone. Guilt shaded her ears darker.  

 

“Okay,” he said. He smiled at her, like she was broken. She smiled back, because she knew he didn't know how it made her feel. She always kept that sort of stuff to herself. It would only make him worry. And she worried him enough with everything else.

 

“You wouldn't be disappointed if I told you I wasn’t ready?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t submitting to guilt. He eased her wonder, shaking his head vigorously before looking at her.

 

“Never,” he said. She believed him without question. He sighed heavily, a heartbreaking smile coming back. For her. “I love you, Hitoka. But please, really think about it.”

 

And even if she didn’t deserve him and was stupid enough to let things eat away at her until they worried him to pieces, Yachi wasn’t stupid enough to not try to be better for him.

 

“I will. I promise,” she leaned over to kiss him, “I love you, too.”

 

She could feel her skin prickling minutes after, more at ease as she watched Tadashi’s hands now sliding underneath the surface boldly. Yachi felt his fingers skim along her stomach, circling her belly button. She had splashed him twice now for tickling her, but he didn’t waver.

 

“You know I’m a nurse right?” he asked, catching her off guard. She also caught his tone, light and playful like earlier. Yachi took the bait.

 

“Is that a trick question?” she asked. When he shook his head, Yachi answered seriously, “Of course I know.”

 

“Then you should know that poop was the first thing I got used to when I started working in hospitals. Just so you know how unbothered I am.”

 

All that guilt and shame she felt earlier, gone. In an instant.

 

“Thank you for that,” she cringed, “lovely bit of information.” She shook her head exasperated. Unbelievable. She had hoped he wouldn’t bring it up, like a normal human being. But _no_. He had to be a cheesy dumb-dumb. He laughed.

 

“Do you still feel unsexy?”

 

She gave him an unimpressed face, choice words on the tip of her tongue. Yachi opened her mouth, then stopped. During that time, Tadashi had gotten up and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor before he reached for his belt. Yachi felt her mouth dry.

 

“Well?” he asked, dropping the belt and reaching his fly. Yachi reached over to grab the mountain of bubbles to cover herself.

 

"What are you thinking about, pervert? I'm in the middle of my bubble bath," she squeaked. Then, Tadashi smirked. _Smirked_. If she were standing, she might’ve melted.

 

“Can’t I ask for some affirmation too?” he asked outrageously. She gawked at him, mouth hung open before she made her brain work.

 

"No," she could hear the zipper slide, moving her eyes to her boyfriends face, his smug ass acting all smug, "there's only room for one in this tub and I've occupied it." Yachi tingled with nerves, some good, some going haywire. She's sure she would've outmatched any tomato in sight. He took a step forward.

 

“I don’t know,” his pants dropped, Yachi made sure her eyes never left his face, “It looks pretty spacious to me.”

 

“Wha—wait, no!” Before she could stop him, Tadashi sunk into the tub with her, spilling water onto the tile as he pounced on the poor girl. “Tadashi, stop! Eeeeeek!”

 

“I’m ravishing you!” he roared, attacking her neck with kisses that made it impossible not to laugh. She struggled, a smile never leaving her face as she feebly tried to push him away.

 

“Ah, no! My bubbles!” she screamed, squirming as his hands snaked around her, poking her sides mercilessly.

 

After a surprising turn of event in the bath, Yachi left her man to his own devices after scrubbing clean, her pruney fingers squeezing the excess water from her hair as she walked out into their bedroom in her fuzzy bathrobe. She looked at the right wall, reading their electric thermometer. Reading the low temperature, she wondered if Tadashi would let her be greedy.

 

“Tadashi, do you—”

 

“Yes, you can use the knit socks,” he called out, knowing her so well.

 

"You're the best," she wasted no time skipping to his dresser, pulling out his sock drawer as her hands rummaged towards the back end. She pried and dug for a minute before rummaging deeper into the drawer.

 

“I don’t see them,” she mumbled to herself, digging with her hand to—

 

Her hand hit something.

 

She pursed her lip, reaching over again to feel something...

Velvet? 

Wait a minute, did Tadashi have velvet socks that he’s hiding from her? She wrapped her hand around the velvet and pulled it out from the drawer. When she brought it to her face, she realized it wasn’t a pair of luxurious, effeminate socks, but a light white velvet box that fit in her palm. But why would her boyfriend have a velvet box in the back of his sock drawer?

 

Baby teeth?

 

Seemed possible.

 

Figuring it be easier to open it instead of staying in suspense, Yachi lifted the top of the box, hoping not to be completely grossed out with little miniature teeth. Sometime in the future, she’ll swear that she was blinded the moment she opened that infamous white box.

 

There were no baby teeth. Not even a lock of Tsukki’s hair (which was her second guess. A solid guess, if you asked her). No. What lay in the box was so much scarier.

 

A golden band with an elegant tear-shaped diamond, small topaz stones surrounding the center gem. The design was clean and polished without being too much or too flashy.

 

An engagement ring.

 

It was simple and beautiful. Just what she would have wanted. The perfect ring she would have picked out for herself.

 

But she didn’t. Tadashi did.

 

Then she heard the water drain from the tub.

 

Panicked, Yachi quickly snapped the box shut and placed it back into his sock drawer, making sure to hide it just as she found it, underneath her boyfriend's old Christmas socks. The blonde pushed the drawer closed and had just enough time to step away from the dresser before Tadashi walked into the room, tying his pant's string at the hip. She turned to him and watched his easy smile drop.

 

“Hitoka,” he said, taking a step towards her, “you look pale.”

 

Really? She felt red. And airy. Did Tadashi feel loopy too or was that just her?

 

“Hitoka?”

 

Yachi didn’t hear anything else after that. She felt her head fill up with smoke before her eyes rolled back, her small body hitting their rug. Tadashi called her name repeatedly and she felt some of her weight being lifted. But that was all distant, out of reach. Her focus all on one thing.

 

A ring.

 

An engagement ring.

 

An engagement ring for her.

 

It was for her, right?

 

What is she thinking? Of course, it's for her.

 

Oh my goodness.

 

She’s going to be a bride. She’d finally have the chance.

 

 _I’m gonna be a bride._  

 

Before she passed out, Yachi’s mind started to spiral, wanting to panic just thinking about the whole endeavor planning a wedding would be. Ah well, when she came too, she’ll have to make plans.

 

She’ll ask Akaashi for his leftover ideas.

 

She’ll have to call her mom.

 

Who would be her best man? Hinata? Tsukki maybe? Would Kageyama know what that was?

 

Oh, well. All in due time. She’ll just think about it later. Maybe Kiyoko-san could help! She couldn’t wait to tell the older girl the news. The thought eased her heart just a smidge.

 

She smiled as her world went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Next Chapter:  Charm**

 

Akaashi, Oikawa, Kageyama, Tsukishima, Kuroo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect the anger, I really do. I swear, all your suffering isn’t my intention when I write. This has all been premeditated LONG before. The story is really about to pick up the pace and I’m excited. I think you should be too. 
> 
> Besides, all the heartache and angst has been rather mild compared to what I have in store to come. Full-disclosure.  
> Next chapter is a doozy.
> 
> I'll try to be much better with staying in contact with you guys, too. That I can promise with full confidence. Thanks for reading friends, until next time.
> 
>  
> 
> ~Comment-Review-Fav-Follow-Bookmark-Subscribe-Kudos~
> 
> ~The Hive in June~


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